


Love You Harder

by tryslora



Series: Love You So Hard [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Unrequited Love, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretend dating is hard. Like <i>really</i>. Like walking around hard all the time hard. Stiles is starting to wonder if he's going to survive the experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Love You So Hard" was sad. So yes, I'm extending it with a sequel. Which shall be posted in pieces, short tiny chapters, and I will not let it have a huge sweeping plot, and I am not promising specific update times... I will update when I have the chance, okay? Forgive me? I just can't promise schedules right now... so sporadic it is.

“So. I might have sucked Scott off last night.”

There’s silence on the other side of the phone, and for a long moment Stiles wonders if Lydia’s actually going to respond. It’s not like he gets a long break between sessions, and he was hoping to make this call quick. They finished lunch five minutes ago, and he came out to the car to just get a little privacy, and he has to be in a session on Comparative Techniques for Combining Wolfsbane in ten more minutes. He huffs, making a small noise to try to encourage her to say something.

“You are at a conference of alphas and associated emissaries from all over the country, and you led with _that_?” Her words are clipped and chiding, and Stiles grumbles at her.

“It is the single most important thing that happened yesterday, Lydia, so _yes_ , I led with that,” he tells her.

“I suppose you have a point. Go on.”

But now that he has permission, Stiles has no idea what to _say_ about it. “I liked it,” he says quietly. “I mean, not that that’s a surprise. We all know I like dick as much as pussy—”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Fine, we all know I play both sides of the field.” Stiles tries to dial back on the crudity, but it’s not easy, not when his mind is moving at light speed in a hundred different directions. “And I’m pretty sure that everyone but Scott knows how I feel about him. It’s just… we’re doing this thing where he’s pretending that I’m not just his emissary, I’m his _partner_. And it’s working. I mean, it’s working _really well_ and everyone believes us. We touch all the time, we check in with each other, we probably already smelled like each other. Folks keep telling me how cute we are. So I suggested that since we needed to make it seem _real_ , and everyone seems to think we’re newlyweds, we should fuck.”

“Really?”

“He suggested jerking off instead.” Stiles remembers the flash of panic in Scott’s expression, the way he’d seemed relieved that Stiles was okay with just getting naked and coming all over each other instead. “And yeah, that works. Spread a little jism, and it doesn’t matter how much we shower where sensitive wolfy noses are concerned.”

“You’re working your way into TMI territory again,” Lydia reminds him.

“I listened to you worry about warts on Jackson’s dick, once,” Stiles reminds her. “Which turned out to be a completely natural side-effect of his brief foray into lizard-dom. You can listen to my sex life this time. That is part of being best bros.”

“You have a habit of falling in love with your best bros,” Lydia says gently. “Me. Danny. Derek. Scott.”

“That brief thing I had about Kira,” Stiles murmurs. “Although Isaac, that was totally hate sex. Nice, but hate sex. We still aren’t best anything.”

“Best enemies.”

“Maybe.” Stiles sighs. “What do I do? I mean, the faking it thing is easy. I wander around, smell like Scott, make new friends and learn things. But he’s going to touch me again, Lydia. He’s going to sniff my shoulder and rub that perfectly rough cheek against mine. He left _bruises_ on my collarbone. I can still feel where he was holding me. I ache and it feels good and honestly, I’d do it all over again, but he is going to _break my heart_.”

“He couldn’t if you didn’t keep putting it under his feet to step on,” Lydia tells him quietly. “You have to learn to protect yourself, someday, Stiles. If you keep shoving it at him, and he doesn’t want it, you’re going to get hurt. And I don’t want to see you hurt. I love you both, but honestly, if he’s not…”

“If he’s not interested, no amount of blow jobs is going to change that. I know.” Stiles sighs. “It’s just wishful thinking. So hey…” He looks out the window into the parking lot. “I’m heading back in. Wasn’t there someone you wanted me to talk to?”

“The Stafford pack out of Connecticut,” Lydia says, and he can hear the _tsk-tsk_ in her voice for forgetting. “They have a banshee, and I’d like to get in touch with her. Plus they’ve been using the Alpha-Emissary-Banshee combination for five years now, although theirs is a standard garden-variety alpha. But they may have some interesting tricks up their sleeves.”

“No one’s quite like our pack,” Stiles says with a wry smile. “You have no idea how many times I heard that yesterday.”

“And that’s why the two of you need to maintain your ruse, remember? So no one thinks they can come between you.”

“I know.” And Stiles _does_ know, even if he doesn’t like it. “I’ll see you in a few days when we’re back.”

He has exactly two minutes after he hangs up the phone to catch a deep breath and race back into the hotel. It almost works, too, except that Scott is waiting at the door and catches him for a kiss, stealing his breath so that Stiles walks into his session, flushed, late, and barely able to breathe.

This thing with Scott is going to kill him, but oh, what a way to go.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing is, Stiles can’t just let it go.

Sure, he could take the easy way out. Hold hands, sleep in the same bed, kiss once in a while… then they smell like each other and no one questions it. But damn it, if he’s going to be a fake boyfriend, he’s going to be the best damned fake boyfriend Scott will ever have. He will dote on him, he will be a partner and a pack member. He will be _perfect_.

Which is why Stiles flops down across Scott’s lap when he finds him sitting on the sofa in the hotel lobby before dinner. “Hello, darling,” he teases, leaning in, brushing his lips across Scott’s, catching him mid word. And if Scott is adorable when he flushes brightly at the attention, that is _not_ Stiles’s fault, nor is he going to find it ridiculously attractive. Nope, not Stiles. He’s just going to act normal. “So, what’s the plan for this evening?”

A soft cough drags his attention to the nearby chair where a woman sits, legs neatly crossed at the knees, pencil skirt riding up slightly to show off her thighs. Nice legs, and Stiles can’t help but look before he remembers that he’s with Scott.

Married, not dead, isn’t that the phrase?

He flushes slightly. “Sorry, did I interrupt something official?”

“Don’t worry, it’s cute.” She leans forward, hand out, claws neatly trimmed but sharp. He has to admire her control, the way she shows power without making herself look inhuman. “I’m Aliana. And I can tell that you’re Stiles.”

“We’re having dinner with Ali and her emissary,” Scott says. He shifts Stiles on his lap, tilting him so that he slips off to sit next to him on the sofa instead of sprawled across. “She wants to talk to us about how our pack functions with interspecies relations.”

“We’ve had similar hurdles to overcome over the years.” Aliana sits forward and Stiles revises his first guess of her being right around their age. Up close he can see the faint lines around her eyes, and he suspects she’s a good fifteen years older than they are. “It’s rare to find another pack that extends beyond wolves, humans, and one token druid.”

“We have two druids,” Stiles tells her. “Three if you count Marin floating in and out and generally causing chaos in our lives. She’s not actually _ours_ , but she is Deaton’s sister, so it counts for something.”

Aliana grins, bright and wide, so Stiles can see the sharpness of her teeth. “Complicated. Which is perfect. You don’t mind missing the banquet, do you? I assure you, it’ll be better food, and we’ll be done earlier than the official gathering, so you two can have some… time together.”

Her nostrils flare and Stiles glances at Scott, feeling his own cheeks heat up because of _course_ she thinks they’re fucking. That was the whole _point_ of last night. “Yeah, sure, I’m good with that. I mean, that’s why we’re here, right? To make contact with other packs and see how the rest of the world does things.” Because the Beacon Hills pack is nothing if not unique, he’s figured that much out already. No one else has a kitsune. Or a dragon. Or a unicorn.

There’s a soft hiss of noise, but by the time Stiles looks over at her, Aliana is smiling. “Let me just go get Matthew, and we’ll meet you outside. The grill is right down the road—don’t even need to get a car out of the garage. You’ll love it, Scott. Plenty of red meat, good for a young wolf.”

Scott’s answering smile is gentle and easy. “Yeah, sure, Ali. We’ll meet you out there. Just give us like… fifteen minutes?”

She laughs. “Of course. I remember what it was like to be young. I’m even willing to give you twenty.”

Because she thinks they’re going to fuck, Stiles is sure of it. He _knows_ that she thinks that in the few minutes they have, they’re going to make it up to the room, get naked, and get off… his cheeks flush brightly. “Um?”

Aliana only smiles and leaves.

Scott pulls him closer, nuzzling cheek to cheek, and it’s all too easy to turn it into a kiss, long and slow and lingering. It’s just as easy for Stiles to swing his leg over, straddling Scott on the sofa, grinding down against him just once while they kiss, before Scott sucks a mark into the skin of Stiles’s throat.

“Is that… are you…?”

Of course Scott notices that Stiles is hard as a rock. Stiles bites his lip, tries to will his erection away. “I’m male, crotch to crotch with you, and you are nipping at my ever-so-sensitive neck. I’m pretty sure my dick is _not_ paying attention to whether we’re in public or private spaces.”

He can’t just say _you’re getting to me, even though you think it’s all fake_ because they _are_ in a public space. They’re right there in the lobby, and even without werewolf hearing, Stiles catches the murmurs of people passing by. In a place like this, there’s amusement and no censure, but still, Stiles doesn’t like the way they watch so avidly. They are as good as celebrities in the werewolf world.

He licks his lips and leans in closer, mouth pressed to Scott’s ear. “Just give me five minutes. I’ll go take care of it before we go,” he whispers.

“Not yet.” Scott’s fingers are in Stiles’s back pockets, yanking him closer as Scott rocks _up_ , pressing against him.

Scott’s hard, too.

Because they are both _men_ and they both think with their dicks and Scott was hard last night and oh _fuck_ this isn’t fair at all because Stiles knows it’s all fake and it doesn’t mean anything but it still feels _good_. Scott is holding him in place, and they are grinding together slowly and it’s building until Stiles is worried that he’s going to shoot off right there in the middle of the lobby. 

His fingers cling to Scott, stubby nails scratching at his shoulders. “Scott. Scotty. _Oh fuck_. If you don’t stop… we need to stop.”

Scott _does_ , and Stiles almost wants to cry about it. His breath comes in quick pants, whistling in his lungs for a moment. Scott’s eyes are blown dark and he palms Stiles’s nape, bringing him close to kiss him. “She wants you,” he whispers.

Oh. Okay. Stiles gets this. Yes. More claiming so she _knows_ it’s real, even if it’s not.

Scott spills Stiles from his lap and he almost falls, flailing out and coming to his feet as Scott helps him. Stiles could say no, but he doesn’t, letting Scott lead him into the nearby men’s room, pushing him into a stall and up against the wall.

“Is this okay?” Scott whispers as he works at the button of Stiles’s fly. He nods frantically, not trusting his voice, because it is so _very_ okay. He manages to get Scott’s jeans open too, then Scott has both their dicks wrapped in his hand, stroking them together and Stiles whines because it feels so good.

“We’re both going to smell like _us_ ,” Scott whispers, and it’s funny because Stiles isn’t even a wolf and he loves the way that sounds. 

Scott finds a spot on Stiles’s throat and he latches on, teeth first and tongue after, suckling and teasing, and it’s like there’s a straight line to his dick. He thrusts into the circle of Scott’s hand, feeling the slide of skin on skin, and when Scott groans it’s almost too much. Stiles stutters, hips jerking, and he’s coming in thick ropes while Scott keeps stroking, using his jism to stroke them both through their orgasms.

Scott leans in, holding him up against the wall, sticky hand sliding under Stiles’s shirt, spreading fluid there. “We can wash up,” he whispers. “You don’t have to stay sticky to smell like me.”

Stiles laughs weakly. “Well, yeah, the restaurant probably won’t let us in if you’ve got come stains on your shirt. We’d better get changed.”

But he doesn’t want to move, not yet, not while his knees are weak and he can barely breathe. He holds onto Scott and they hold each other up against the wall. They have ten more minutes before Aliana’s going to get annoyed; Stiles figures they can spend a few more here before they run upstairs to get changed.

“We should definitely sleep in the same bed tonight,” Stiles says before he can think better of it because he just wants to take advantage of the time he has to be wrapped around his best friend.

Scott goes still, then he nods, cheek brushing Stiles. “You’re right, we should.” His voice is stilted, and Stiles wants to die a little inside that Scott is upset by this.

He wills his heartbeat calm, does his best to hide how he feels. He can get through this conference, and hey, what are a few orgasms between friends? It’s not like Stiles hasn’t survived having his heart crushed before.

Of course, it’s never been _Scott_ treading on his heart.

The next few days are going to be a perfectly brilliant form of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, and have a new chapter! I have no idea how many chapters there will be, but I'd guess around tennish or so when it's all said and done. We shall see where this takes us!
> 
> Once again, I am not updating based on a schedule (I really can't right now, thanks to real life being more than a bit chaotic). In the meantime, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner’s not bad, but Stiles spends most of it wondering what, exactly, the Stafford pack wants from them. They spend the first part of the meal exchanging stories, and Stiles learns that while the packs are similar, they’re not exactly the same.

“We’ve never had good dealings with witches,” Stiles admits when the subject comes up. “There was this one time…” his voice trails off because telling that story is _not_ going to make any of them look good, and he can feel the flush rising brightly to his cheeks. “Anyway. Yeah. I have a smart mouth and witches tend to have hair-trigger tempers and the two do not go well together. I’m sure there would be some we could get along with, but the ones we’ve met so far have been more interested in seeing what they could get out of us than making friends.”

“Witches can be very avaricious,” Matthew admits. He’s an interesting guy, Stiles will give him that. He was raised into druidhood by his mother, then gifted to the Stafford pack at the age of twelve. He’s never really known anything else, and it shows in his calm and ease with the supernatural. “I’ve been told that integrating them years ago was difficult, but the witch family that’s part of our pack now has been with us for three generations, and rumor has it that the first interactions go back to the Colonial days. Our records aren’t good enough to paint a clear picture.”

He tilts his head, blue eyes narrowed slightly, and Stiles can feel a faint hint of distrust that he doesn’t get from Aliana. “We’ve always had our troubles with banshees,” Matthew tells him.

“Well, we have two, which helps, and I grew up with Lydia so we’ve been friends since forever.” Stiles waves that description off with his fingertips. They don’t need to know about his past obsession with her, or the rocky road they took to friendship, or how she’s now married to the biggest dick in their pack. “Meredith had a harder time of it, but she’s pretty solid, all things considered. It really helps when needing to find the dead bodies. Or have an alarm system about dead bodies to be.”

“Is that a big problem in Beacon Hills?” Aliana’s tone is light, but Stiles and Scott exchange a glance.

“Not any more,” Scott says firmly. “It took some time after what happened to the Hale pack, but the territory is now under McCall protection.”

“Oh, is Hale not involved?”

“Hale is very much involved.” Stiles snaps the words out, stopping when Scott touches his hand. Okay, relax. There is something about the way Aliana talks—all sweetness and light with targeted words—that really bothers him. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Scott, though, and Stiles tries his best to relax as well. “Both Derek and Cora Hale are a part of the McCall pack,” Stiles manages to say.

“Stiles used to date Derek.” Scott offers a rueful smile. “And Cora, very briefly. At different times. So he’s a little protective of the Hales.”

“It was _very_ brief. She threw me into a—”

“So did Derek.” Scott just looks at him. “You always _liked_ werewolves. It just took you time to find the right one.”

Stiles’s mouth opens, then closes as a fresh flush rises, due to both the complete and absolute truth of that statement and the gentle reminder of what they are supposed to be portraying. He ducks his gaze, because he doesn’t want Scott to see his expression. “Yeah. Yeah, it did. Lydia happily pointed that out to me today.” He doesn’t know how to even talk about this without giving away the game, so instead he raises their joined hands, kisses Scott’s fingertips, tongue darting over the surface until he hears Scott make a noise. “She said she hopes things are going well, and asked us specifically to look out for Aliana and Matthew. So it’s good you found us first.”

There, the topic is pushed back directly into the laps of the Stafford pack and away from potentially uncomfortable topics.

“We were hoping to meet you as well.” Aliana leans forward. “We would like to negotiate an agreement between our packs. An exchange of knowledge, and of resources. You send your younger members to us, and we send ours in return. It will allow us to exchange techniques, knowledge, information. Our packs are similar, yet have such different abilities despite those similarities. We would both benefit greatly from this.”

“I’m interested.” Scott mimics her body language, his elbows on the table, body leaning slightly towards her. Stiles lets his hand fall to the small of Scott’s back, slipping underneath the edge of his shirt. If Aliana and Matthew are looking, it will seem to be a lover’s touch, but Stiles and Scott have known each other so long they can almost communicate without words. Stiles curls his fingers slightly, nails scraping in rough warning.

He doesn’t trust them. This is too easy.

Scott smiles, all youth and innocence. “Is there an agreement that you already have written up? We’ve never done anything formal to ally with another pack, yet, especially one all the way across the country. I’m not sure how I feel about letting my friends go, but it’s really up to them. Maybe you could give us that agreement to take a look at it, go over the details.”

“Does your pack have a lawyer?” Aliana brings a sheaf of papers out of her bag. “This is a boiler plate that we’ve used in the past. We’re allied with the Haynes in Massachusetts, the Giovanni pack in New Jersey, and the Carsons down in West Virginia. We exchange our young regularly, and have meets in the better weather.” 

“Cool.” Scott takes the papers, flipping through them and not really seeming to take in the details. Stiles’s fingers tap another warning against his skin, and Scott lays the contract on the table. “We’ll have to read it later, when we get back to our room. I’m sure we’ll be up late anyway.” He gives a lazy grin to Stiles, and Stiles knows that is his cue.

He leans in and brushes his lips against Scott’s, just a quick tease. He isn’t surprised when Scott brings his hand up, cups the back of Stiles’s head and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. For just a moment, Stiles wonders what he tastes like to Scott, what his low whine of _please don’t stop_ sounds like to a wolf. But Stiles can’t help it, losing himself in the kiss and letting himself forget that it’s all for show.

Matthew coughs, and Scott lets Stiles go, pulling back. “Yes, I suspect you will be up late,” Matthew says dryly.

“If you can’t finish tonight, it won’t be a problem.” Aliana gestures. “Tomorrow, Sunday… as long as we have a chance to discuss and sign before we leave, it will be perfect. And of course, we’d be willing to extend our stay if that’s what you’d like, and continue our discussions after the conference is done.”

“Or come down to Beacon Hills?” Stiles asks, curious just how far they are willing to go to cement this relationship.

“Or come down to Beacon Hills,” Aliana agrees easily. “I might be intrigued to meet your banshees. They sound so different than our own experiences.”

“Oh, Lydia’s different,” Stiles agrees, his mind filing away that information. “And Meredith makes Lydia look completely normal.” That’s the second time at least that the conversation has come around to banshees, and he has to think it means something. He’s just not sure _what_.

“Read through it and have your lawyer get in touch with us,” Matthew tells them. “We can make any adjustments necessary, of course. This should be a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“We don’t have a lawyer.” And it’s true when Stiles says it. There is no official pack lawyer. But they have Deaton, and Jackson’s father, and he knows his own father would be more than willing to look through it for potential issues that might not be completely kosher in the human world.

“We’d be happy to put you in touch with ours,” Aliana offers. She takes out a card and slides it under the paperclip holding the contract together. “Just give him a call if you need anything clarified. He’s a wyvern, so he doesn’t sleep much; you can reach him at almost any time. I’ll let him know to expect you.”

“Thanks.” Scott glances at another table, clear longing in his expression when he sees the dessert cart approaching them. He huffs a sigh. “Stiles…”

“Dessert, pack alliance, sex…” Stiles shakes his head. “It’s a tough decision, bro. Are you going to tell me that chocolate cake is more important than me?”

He’s looking at Scott, but he can still see Matthew and Aliana out of the corner of his eye. He sees the glance they exchange, the small nod and smile of satisfaction. This is no longer just a ruse that they are mated… this has become a ruse that they are so far lost in each other, in the newness of their mating, that they are not able to see outside the bubble of being newlyweds. Stiles raises one eyebrow, taps two fingers on the table and waits.

It’s a pre-arranged signal, different than Stiles’s usual tip-tap motion as he fidgets. It’s deliberate, one strike with the pads of two fingers, and Scott notices.

The grin that comes is bright and wide and strikes into Stiles’s heart to leave him breathless. “I choose sex,” Scott tells him, reaching to capture his hands and pull him out of the seat. Scott’s arm is across his shoulders, tugging him in close, and Stiles responds by shoving his face into the crook of Scott’s neck, rubbing his scent there as he kisses him and feels Scott shiver.

“Lovebirds,” Aliana says, and her tone of voice seems almost fond. “Don’t forget…” She nudges the papers toward them, and Stiles rolls them up, shoving them in his back pocket as if they are an after-thought.

“We won’t,” he assures them. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Matthew, are you doing that session on foxglove and marigolds?”

“That and the ash comparison seminar are the two that I can’t miss tomorrow,” Matthew agrees easily. “See you there.”

They manage to not talk until they get back to the hotel, pausing several times along the way for Scott to push Stiles up against the wall, marking his throat with scruff-burn and scent. “Wolves,” Scott mutters, and Stiles whines because _of course_ there are wolves _everywhere_. This is going to kill him, it truly is.

When they get into the room, Stiles finds the clock radio and cranks it up, rap music setting a pounding beat. He turns to find Scott with the phone in hand. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering cake,” Scott says. He peers down at the menu in his hand as he says loudly, “Yeah, sorry, my roommate’s got it cranked and he’s—never mind. Just bring me up a big slice of chocolate cake, and vanilla ice cream, and can I get two mugs of hot cocoa with whipped cream? What?” Scott’s gaze narrows. “No thanks. I mean. Thank you, but no. We don’t drink. We _can’t_ drink.”

“What was that all about?” Stiles watches as Scott hangs up the phone, his eyebrows furrowed deeply.

“I don’t know. Someone sent us champagne, to congratulate us.” Scott shakes his head. “I don’t trust it, and we’re underage, so we’re not taking it. We don’t need more trouble.”

“Because you think we’ve already got trouble,” Stiles agrees.

Scott sinks down to sit on the bed. “ _You_ think we’ve got trouble, and there’s no one I trust more than you. So we’re going to get dessert, and we’re going to get our scent all over each other, and then we’re going to go over that contract and see what the Stafford pack really wants.”

Stiles is stuck on the _get our scent all over each other_ part, his mind filling in vivid options. He nods quickly. “Sure. Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” And it _is_ a plan. It’s a great plan and an awful plan and he really wonders how far Scott is willing to go to make this believable, and he really wonders how hurt he’s going to be when they go back and Scott stops pretending at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry it took so long to get this third chapter finished and up. Yes, there might be a plot interfering, but isn't that usual for my stories? ANYWAY. Hopefully the fourth chapter won't take nearly as long to finish and get posted! Thank you all for being here, and for reading and commenting. Enjoy!
> 
> If you'd like to find me in the meantime, I'm [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

The problem with the contract is that it’s _boring_.

Stiles is trying to read it while Scott starts in on the cake, and the smell of chocolate is driving Stiles insane. “We have problems and you’re eating _cake_ ,” he complains.

“And ice cream,” Scott reminds him mildly. “Take a break and join me. The papers will still be there after and it’s not like they expect us to actually read them immediately.”

“They don’t expect us to read them at all.” Stiles is positive of that, after the looks they were given. “They think we’re going to come back here and fuck and forget all about looking too closely at the details, and then we’ll just sign on the dotted line tomorrow because we’re a young pack and we need alliances. They think we’re green. And that we don’t have a lawyer.”

“Technically we don’t. It’s a crap shoot whether Jackson’s dad will look anything over for us.” Scott shrugs one shoulder. “And it’s not bad if they underestimate us. In fact, it’s good if they do. Let them expect nothing, and be surprised when we’re not pushovers. It’ll work for us.”

“Which means that in order to pull something over on them, I need to read this.” Stiles shakes the papers. “Before tomorrow. Before they expect a response.”

“It can wait for now.” Scott takes the papers, tugs them from Stiles’s hands. “We had a list of things to do, and one of those was dessert, another was reading the paperwork…”

“…And the other was getting our scent all over each other.” Stiles’s voice is hoarse, because _Scott_ is initiating this. Not just scenting in public, not a kiss for show, but something _else_. Something _more_. 

“We should do that first.” Scott spreads his hands. “Just in case we’re interrupted. I know you’ll be fine with the paperwork, and if you’re really worried about it, we can scan it quickly and send it off to Lydia. She’ll make sure it gets dealt with at home, and we can focus on what we need to do _here_. That’s what we have a pack for, Stiles. The Stafford pack has no idea how well we all work together. So let’s surprise them.”

His mouth is still dry, and when Stiles tries to find words to say something he can’t figure out what he meant to say. Instead he watches while Scott spreads the papers out and starts methodically taking pictures of each page in order.

“Get the addenda,” Scott says, and Stiles picks up the final pages and _yes_ , there are about thirteen pages of addenda after the primary contract and… _what the hell is all this_?

“I want Deaton to look at this, and my dad, and I don’t think this is all lawyer-speak. I think getting a lawyer involved was a redirection.” Stiles is stuck on one passage that stands out, pricking at his senses. It seems to be completely mundane, but something about how it is worded keeps him from reading it aloud. He lays it down and starts snapping pictures. “Tell everyone to only read silently, don’t say _anything_ aloud. Not until Deaton’s gone through it with a fine tooth comb, and maybe Morrell, too, if she’s available. And I definitely want to read it myself, just in case.”

“You think they’re trying to pull off something magical?” Scott’s brow furrows.

“They have _witches_ ,” Stiles reminds him. “And witches are tricksy creatures. I don’t trust them at _all_ right now.”

Scott finishes up before Stiles does, and pauses long enough to get a message written up and sent out. “Just reply to mine,” he says. “I already gave them the main document and told them you’d be sending the rest.”

Stiles is still taking pictures when he feels Scott behind him, fingers tugging lightly at the hem of his shirt. “Scott…”

“You can multi-task.” Scott pulls, and Stiles obediently puts his arms up just long enough for the shirt to go over his head and be tossed aside. “I don’t want to waste time. In case someone decides to come knocking on our door.”

Stiles glances at the radio, still spewing loud rap music to cover their conversation. “You want them to hear what we’re doing?”

Scott’s hands stop on Stiles’s sides, his mouth against Stiles’s neck. “Are you planning on being loud?” His voice sounds slightly strangled.

“If you think it’d help.” Stiles closes his eyes, leans back to enjoy the touch, stealing that peace just for a moment. “I mean, it’s a lot easier to just let go and be loud than it is to try not to make noise.”

“I’ll get the radio.”

Stiles almost fumbles his phone as he tries to take the last two pictures, then package them all up to send to the pack. He’s in the middle of a text to Lydia when Scott comes back, pressing in close behind him, mouth latching onto his shoulder. Stiles manages to finish typing _I’m so fucked_ and press send before Scott whispers in his ear, “Put down the phone.”

Stiles tosses it aside, arching into Scott’s touch, because oh _fuck_ , if it’s possible to die from pleasure and want, Stiles is a goner before the weekend’s over. Scott skates over Stiles’s nipples, teasing with his thumbs until Stiles whines for more, then he comes back with a harder touch. “What…” Stiles tries to gather breath, negotiate what they are _faking_ tonight. Because he could do anything— _would_ do anything—with Scott.

“I bought lube.”

It’s so _premeditated_ that Stiles feels like he could come on the spot. “You _what_?” he asks, slightly choked.

Scott’s hands still, fingers curled just beneath the waistband of Stiles’s jeans, over the ridge of his hips. He presses in close and Stiles can feel Scott’s dick against his ass. His breath comes short, wanting more, wanting to _beg_ and dying a little inside because this isn’t real.

“We don’t have to fuck.” Scott murmurs against his shoulder, nipping between words, teasing with his tongue. “I’m going to slick between your cheeks and get off there.”

Stiles whines loudly, because he wants to say _fuck me_ because that would be _more_ than okay. He’s in too deep, head over heels in love with his best friend, and this is _killing_ him. If this is all he ever gets, he wants these to be the best four days of his fucking life. “Okay,” he agrees, because this is what Scott will give him and he doesn’t want to push for more. “Sounds like we need to be naked for this.”

When he turns around, Scott’s watching him with his sappy, lopsided grin. “Yeah. Naked usually works best. Good thing I never mind getting naked with you.”

There are so many ways Stiles could take that. It’s just words in case someone’s listening. It’s true—they’ve run around naked before, and they’ve showered after lacrosse, and there was that summer they went skinny dipping a handful of times. But it sounds like so much _more_ right now. And Stiles wishes it _were_ more.

He nods quickly, then yanks at the fly of his jeans, pushing everything down at once and kicking them away. His erection bobs free, and he grabs it with one hand, stroking quickly as he tries to calm himself, keep himself under some small measure of control. And he _watches_ , because oh fuck, Scott is beautiful.

Scott strips more slowly, tugging his shirt over his head, revealing wolf-hard abs that Stiles wants to touch. He reaches out, managing to get his fingertips against him, skating lightly over skin before Scott pulls back with a soft hiss. “Give me just a minute,” Scott says quietly, looking down at the button of his jeans as he wrestles with it. “Get the lube out of my bag, okay? It’s in the outside pocket, in a plastic bag.”

They’re both carrying backpacks around the convention, in keeping with their youth and the need to be able to carry any number of pieces of paperwork and information. Stiles finds Scott’s where he tossed it earlier, and the lube is in a drugstore bag, the receipt still with it. He unwraps it and punctures the safety seal before tossing it onto the bed.

When he turns back, Scott is standing there, staring at him, his erection obvious.

Stiles can’t quite breathe from looking at him. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Scotty,” he manages to say. “In case no one’s said it you recently.”

Scott’s smile quirks. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He jerks his chin towards the bed. “Go on.”

Stiles flops face first onto the bed, because this has to be easiest. It’ll feel good, he knows. He can get a hand under, pull on his own cock while Scott fucks against him. It’s going to be fucking brilliant, and he’s got this bottomming thing down. He kneels, his knees spread and ass in the air, and he waits because really, the next move has to be Scott’s.

“Yeah.” Scott’s weight sinks the bed behind Stiles. “Definitely not so bad yourself.”

Stiles feels a hesitant touch, pushing the cheeks of his ass apart. “I won’t break,” he says quietly. “I mean, it’s going to feel good. You know that, right?”

Still Scott hesitates, drawing a finger down Stiles’s crack, the tip skittering over the furled edge of his hole. “Do you want this? I mean… do you honestly want this?”

It feels _so_ good. Stiles sways back, wanting more of the touch that has already slipped away. “Scott, you can do any damned thing you want to me right now,” Stiles admits. “I want to get off, and you’re here and we’re going to get off together, right? It’s not like we haven’t done anything before and it’s not like I’m not into this. I’m hard, okay? And that feels good. So if you want to do it, I’m all for it. Consider this my carte blanche consent.”

Maybe that’s more than he should have said. Maybe Scott will read into it, hear the honesty in the words, but Stiles knows they needed to be said. Because he _would_ do anything for Scott and anything _with_ Scott. It doesn’t matter what it means to him; Stiles wants this. He wiggles his ass a little in invitation and waits.

“Good.” The weight behind him shifts as Scott moves, then Scott has his hands on his ass, and Stiles pushes back against the touch. 

There is nothing tentative this time in the way Scott cups the cheeks of his ass, separates them, baring Stiles’s hole. Stiles whines softly, and Scott huffs a laugh, his breath warm against Stiles’s skin. “Patience,” Scott whispers, then there’s a soft swipe of something wet and Stiles squeaks in surprise. Scott laughs again. “Don’t move.”

There’s a low sound as Scott inhales, then warmth rushes over Stiles’s skin. He can feel every breath, every movement as Scott leans in, tongue cautious and patient and just _ohgodgood_ as he works Stiles open. “That’s…” Stiles gasps. “I just… Scott… you’re…”

“Is it okay?” Scott pauses, and Stiles feels something that might be a thumb gliding against his hole. “Your scent is so strong here. I—it’ll…”

“It’s okay.” Stiles cuts him off, not wanting to know what the rest of that sentence is, because if he stops Scott before he corrects himself, Stiles can pretend he was going to say _I want to do it_. He can pretend that this is real, and that Scott’s going to open him up with his tongue, with his fingers, and then fuck him right into the mattress. He groans softly, head dropping down, eyes closed. “It’s more than okay, Scott. Don’t stop.”

Caution drops away as Scott works him steadily, tongue sliding around the rim, soaking him until he can push just inside. Stiles whimpers and pushes back, begging for more, and Scott gives it to him, fucking him lightly with his tongue. Stiles can’t imagine it tastes good, but Scott makes his own noises, little growls and whines that sound like he’s happy, and that’s just even more arousing. Stiles is hard and aching and leaking onto the mattress. “Scott..”

“Roll over.” Scott leans back on his heels and helps Stiles onto his back before he looks at him. Scott’s eyes are glowing almost yellow when Stiles looks up at him, and he can’t quite breathe from the expression.

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, and he tries to lie back, arms pillowed behind his head rather than reaching for Scott, yanking him down into a kiss. “Now what?”

Scott grins. “Anything I want?” He squeezes a glob of lube out onto his fingers, sliding them between the cheeks of Stiles’s ass. “Are you sure?”

“Anything,” Stiles says, and he means it. _Anything_. Absolutely anything. “I’m all yours.”

Scott swallows hard, and for just a moment his eyes flash a bright red before he looks away. “Okay then. I want to try this face to face. I mean, I know it might not be as comfortable, but if I’m going to come all over you, I want you to come all over me, too. Okay?”

Stiles isn’t quite sure how these logistics are going to work, but he’s more than game for whatever Scott wants to try. In fact, seeing Scott take the initiative here is fucking amazing, and hot, and damn it, he could go for more of this every single night. He nods quickly. “Yeah. Sure. Fine.”

Scott grabs Stiles’s ankles and pushes them up; Stiles reaches out automatically to hold on and help as his legs are spread and his ass tightens. Scott takes a moment to lean in and lick a stripe behind Stiles’s balls, and he can’t help the whine at that. “Fuck, Scott, don’t tease.”

“You said anything,” Scott reminds him, and Stiles laughs sharply because yeah, he did, didn’t he?

Scott stays right where he is, nosing at Stiles’s balls, teasing around them, taking one in his mouth until Stiles cries out again, trying to twist for more attention, but he can’t, folded as he is. When Scott rises over him, Stiles thinks for one moment that this is it, he’s going to fuck him.

But Scott manages to leverage himself between Stiles’s legs, his dick angled down into the soft crevice of Stiles’s ass. Scott changes his position, lifts Stiles just enough, and then he can slide more easily in short strokes, squeezed between his cheeks, and _ohfuck_ he never thought about doing it like this.

“That’s good,” Stiles admits. “It’s really fucking good. Don’t stop.”

“Not going to.” Scott holds himself up so he doesn’t crush Stiles, his body arched, gaze fixed on Stiles’s face. There’s something in his eyes, in the intensity of his expression, that catches at Stiles’s heart. Stiles reaches up without thinking, palm flat against Scott’s cheek, and after a moment Scott’s eyes close.

Stiles doesn’t want this to stop. He loves the slide of Scott against his skin, loves the way his dick catches at his aching hole, teasing him unmercifully. It would be so easy to change the angle, hold himself open, beg for Scott to just press inside and do this to him. And he wants to. His heart is pounding with hunger, his fingers digging into his thighs as he holds himself for Scott. “Please,” he whines, and Scott speeds up, pushing against him.

“Stiles… _ohfuck…_ I’m going to…”

“Yeah.” Stiles exhales. “Oh fuck, yeah, Scott, just… yeah…” He pushes against him, cock bobbing. No one’s even touching him, but he’s so close, it wouldn’t take much. He feels the moment that Scott stutters, hips jerking against him with a flood of warmth, and that’s more than Stiles can take. He lets go of one thigh and reaches for his dick, stroking it once before he’s coming, splashing all over Scott’s chest and his own stomach.

Scott manages to hold himself over Stiles for a moment longer, then his elbows fold and he crashes down into him. Stiles reaches out, wrapping arms around him, rolling them both onto their sides in a tangle of arms and legs. They lie there quietly; Stiles can’t resist nuzzling against Scott’s neck, rubbing his cheek against the stubble on Scott’s cheek, then kissing the hollow of his throat. Scott’s chest rumbles in a nearly silent laugh.

“Tickles,” Scott says.

“It’s supposed to be sexy.” Or affectionate, Stiles thought. Because by this point he’s in so deep that he can’t even lie to himself. He’s in love with his best friend, and he wants to take any chance he can to show him, even if Scott doesn’t realize it. Because this is what he wants, and Scott’s giving him this little bit of time. It’s worth it, right?

“Mm.” Scott falls back, one arm across his face. “It still tickles.” He yawns. “We should nap.”

“We have to read the contract,” Stiles reminds him, even though honestly, he’d rather stay in bed.

“Read it to me?” Scott asks sleepily.

“No reading aloud, remember?” Stiles disengages himself carefully. “I’m going to go get a soda from the machine. Then I’m going to do my duty as your emissary and get reading.” He pads into the bathroom on bare feet, grabbing a hand towel so he can clean the worst of the jism from his skin before he drags on his underwear and jeans. “Want anything?”

Stiles takes Scott’s grunt as a no, and he slips from the room as quietly as he can, making sure his key card is in his pocket before he lets the door latch behind him. If it were any other road trip, he’d probably swing the lock out and let it prop open, but not here, not surrounded by this many werewolves. Stiles feels like he’s on constant alert, and he doesn’t trust any of them.

He’s still barefoot and shirtless as he walks down the hall to the small room by the elevator that houses the ice machine and vending machines. He scratches at an itch and his fingernails come away with something under them and he looks down, realizing there’s probably dried jism on his stomach. He can still feel it squelching a bit between his cheeks, even after trying to clean up a bit. At least if he meets up with anyone now, there’s no doubt that he’s with Scott.

And oh hell, yeah, there’s someone. “Hey, Matthew,” he says politely as he walks up to the vending machine. “Late night soda run?”

Matthew reaches for the soda that just dropped and holds it up, along with another in his hand. “Aliana’s thirsty.” His nostrils flare and his gaze narrows, and Stiles fixes a blithely innocent expression on his face. Is it possible to look just fucked? Stiles hopes he looks freshly fucked.

Matthew cocks his head and inhales, and Stiles does his best not to look like he sees anything odd. Because Matthew is the _emissary_. He’s definitely not a born wolf, not from the stories he told, and he didn’t mention being bitten. Can a bitten wolf even be an emissary? But that.. that’s not human behavior. That’s… something. 

Stiles tries to ignore it, stepping past Matthew to get to the machine, feeding two dollars in and pushing the button for something caffeinated—he doesn’t really care what. One quarter drops into the change slot and Stiles retrieves it, commenting, “Highway robbery,” as he holds it up. It’s inane, and he knows Matthew doesn’t _care_ , but right now, Stiles is trying to look like a just-fucked fool who isn’t aware that the person standing in front of him is hiding something.

He really hopes his heartbeat will be attributed to what he’s been doing with Scott, and not nerves.

Matthew’s smile is full of teeth. “Your alpha’s probably anxious for you to get back.”

Stiles laughs. “Well, yeah, once is never enough. I mean, not even twice—one before dinner, you know. I’ve got to make sure I’ve got enough fuel to keep going.” He holds up the drink. “Wide awake and ready to go. Hopefully I’ll get enough sleep to be coherent tomorrow. If I have to borrow your notes, you’ll know why.” He winks, and Matthew takes a step back. Stiles sees the way he closes off, disregards him as a useless fool.

Perfect.

Matthew smiles then, the sort of smile that says they are in conspiracy, that Matthew understands and approves. “Go on then. Try to get _some_ rest before tomorrow.”

“I’ll try.” Stiles twists the cap off the road and takes a long drink as he walks away. He can feel Matthew’s regard the entire way down the hall, but he won’t look back. He swipes the card and pushes his way inside the room, leaning on the door once he’s there.

“You took too long.” Scott’s voice is low and sleepy, but he’s not napping quite yet.

Stiles grabs the papers and brings them with him to the bed, shedding his jeans and underwear as soon as he drops papers and drink on the nightstand. “Yeah. I ran into someone and…” His voice trails off as he looks at Scott. He touches Scott’s shoulders, lets his fingers drift over Scott’s back when he curls toward him. “You get some sleep. I need to read this. And tomorrow we’re going to talk about what makes a person human or not, okay? I need to ask our friends to do a little research.”

“Mm. S’what the pack is for,” Scott says quietly. “You do that. Then sleep.”

“I’ll take care of everything, Scotty.” Stiles pats Scott’s shoulder gently, already sifting through paperwork. “I’m here for you, bro. And I’ll always take care of you.”

Scott’s low snuffle is the only answer, and Stiles relaxes into the familiar sound of Scott’s breath while sleeping and tries to work his way through the contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot, smut, and over 3600 words for the longest chapter so far! It kind of got unexpectedly long; I blame the boys for lingering. :) Thank you all for being here and reading, and I hope you enjoyed this installment! If you're looking for me between chapters, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG DUDES. I am so sorry for the long delay. (More at the end)

Stiles wakes into the low morning light after only a few hours of sleep. The shower is already running, although the bed’s still warm when Stiles rolls into the empty space. His skin is sticky and the room smells of sex, even to his human nose. It is strangely comforting, and he sighs and closes his eyes, trying to burrow down under the covers and gain just a  few more minutes of sleep.

He blinks his eyes open when the bed dips next to him, a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You need to get up if you want to make your session,” Scott says quietly. “I ordered up some breakfast and it should be here by the time you get out.”

There’s a quiet intimacy between them, and Stiles doesn’t want to break that. He thinks about reaching up, pulling Scott back into bed with him, but if he does that he’ll be late for his session. And give away just how much he wants this. 

He’s still thinking about it when Scott turns away, his voice tight as he says, “Stop thinking with your dick, Stiles.”

Because right, _Scott_ doesn’t want this. “Yeah, right,” Stiles says. “Just give me five minutes in the shower.”

He doesn’t listen to whatever Scott responds, just grabs his clothes and makes his way into the bathroom. He doesn’t bothering lingering over the shower—it’s too easy to remember the touch of Scott’s fingers against his skin when he does and he is all too aware of werewolf hearing if he does _anything_ —he just washes up as quickly as he can, toweling off and dressing before he goes back out into the room.

Scott is already gone, a note propped up on a table from room service.

_Stiles—I’ll see you for lunch in the lobby. Text me to catch me up on what’s going on? You need more sleep. Can you take a session off to rest? Wear one of my shirts today.—Scott_

Stiles strips and changes shirts for the one Scott left out, then shoves the scrambled eggs onto the toast, topping it with two strips of bacon to make an impromptu sandwich, and wraps that in a napkin before rushing out.

He barely makes it to the first session on time, spotting Matthew sitting on the other side of the room and two row ahead of the back row spot Stiles has found. He nods, and Stiles manages to do a polite return before he hunches down in his seat and tries to pay attention even though his mind is drifting.

_Tell me you found something_.

He turns the volume off on his phone before he sends the text to Lydia. He doesn’t want to be rude by texting, but he needs to know, and this is something that can’t wait. Not with Matthew periodically glancing at him, giving off vibes of being something _other_ now that Stiles knows to look for it.

Maybe he can use wolfsbane against him. Or mountain ash. Or some other kind of supernatural detection herb that Stiles doesn’t know about yet. Who knows, maybe this particular breakout session will be the one to tell Stiles how to handle this particular problem.

Unfortunately, the Emissary track doesn’t seem to have lectures on _how to handle yourself when a rival pack seems determined to trick you into submitting_. Maybe Scott’s alpha-directed track will have something more useful to say on the subject.

Maybe Lydia will be awake and will have already read the packet they sent, and have an answer.

Except he doubts it. His pack is efficient, but they aren’t _that_ good.

He sees the flicker of a message on his phone out of the corner of his eye, glances down while trying to be subtle.

_Nothing specific yet. We are not reading aloud. Deaton was fascinated by the sense that some of it is not meant to be read at all._

That. _That’s_ what was bothering Stiles that he couldn’t articulate in the wee hours of the morning, that vague sense of unease when he was trying to push his way through the documents. He had attributed it to exhaustion making his eyes skitter away from the material, but perhaps it was something else entirely. Something far more hostile.

His fingers move slowly, picking out letters on the virtual keyboard.

_Just be careful. And do me a favor and look into Matthew. He’s the emissary but he was sniffing me last night. Ask Deaton if a wolf can be an emissary._

He turns the phone face down and closes his eyes for a moment after pressing send, letting the words wash over him. Normally he’d be all over this topic, but this time he just can’t find the focus for it. He wants to crawl back into bed, recover from the night spent studying.

He wants to not think about the way Scott seemed to recoil away from him this morning.

He turns the phone back over with a sigh, typing out another message before he can reconsider.

_I think I’ve really screwed up. I can’t stop thinking about Scott and we were about as close to fucking as we could be last night without actually doing it. But this morning he took off while I was in the shower._

The answer flashes back almost immediately.

_Is your story still good?_

Of course, Lydia is worried about the conference, although Stiles can admit that it’s probably about their safety more than anything else. He resists shrugging; she can’t see him, and he’d look ridiculous.

_Sure. I ran into Matthew last night and had the whole freshly fucked thing going. Everyone seems to think we’re a couple of newlyweds who can’t keep our hands off of each other._

He turns the phone away again, not wanting to see her response. He’s aching from head to toe, falling over with exhaustion, and just… he _wants_ so damned much right now. He wants the presentation to be over, and Scott to be there at the door, waiting for him. He wants to snuggle, he wants to kiss, and he wants to jerk him off in the bathroom that’s two doors down along the hall.

Stiles wants all the things that he can’t actually have, but there’s only one day left after this, and he has to make the most of it. Maybe it’ll all look better after a nap. Maybe he won’t feel like he’s exuding angst and need and wondering if everyone’s going to start staring at him.

“You look tired.” Matthew drops into the seat next to him, his voice a low murmur. “Even new mates need to sleep sometime.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Stiles fiddles with his phone. He doesn’t have the energy to play the game of politics and subterfuge right now. “I’m thinking about taking a nap before lunch. The next session I want most is after lunch, and I think I can handle skipping the bit on telluric currents.”

“Oh?” Matthew’s eyebrows rise. “I’ve heard a rumor that Beacon Hills is a nexus. I’d think that one would be important.”

Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “I could also probably teach it. It sounds like this panel’s going to be a basic introduction to the concept of ley lines, introducing the various maps and how they overlay, and how they affect supernatural happenings and things that we emissaries care about. I’ve pretty much got all that under control, so my time might be better spent sleeping.”

“Impressive.”

Stiles isn’t sure what Matthew’s tone means, but the one word makes him focus in on Matthew, trying again to figure him out. “There’s something about living on the Hellmouth that makes a dude do or die, y’know?” he quips, trying to pass it off lightly. Matthew’s mouth quirks up, and it would be a smile except that it doesn’t reach his eyes at all.

Stiles wonders if Matthew’s eyes flash. If he’s _that_ supernatural, but it’s not exactly something he can just ask.

“Looks like someone’s waiting for you.” Matthew nods at the door, and Stiles sees Scott just outside, leaning slightly toward the doorway as if he could fall through it.

The session is ending and Stiles has no idea what the conclusions from the panel were, or what questions might have been ask. It’s starting to look like napping isn’t actually _optional_. “And that’s my queue to… nap.” He flashes a quick grin, hopes that the melancholy he feels in his gut doesn’t have a scent, or that Matthew’s not looking, and quickly escapes.

As soon as he gets into the hall, Scott yanks him into an embrace, wrapping around him and pushing up against the wall, nose buried against Stiles’s throat. “You smell off,” Scott murmurs. “You okay?”

“Tired,” Stiles admits, letting Scott and the wall take his weight. The crowd moves around them, walking quickly with only fifteen minutes between sessions. Matthew still lingers somewhere nearby; Stiles can feel the heaviness of his gaze upon them. He reaches for Scott’s face, cups it with his palm, drawing him in for a kiss that quickly goes deeper than he planned. When it finally breaks, Stiles coughs, trying to find a voice that comes out hoarse. “Can’t think why I’m exhausted.”

Scott’s head tilts, brow furrowing before he lowers his gaze. _He’s gone_. His lips form the words soundlessly, and Stiles relaxes, eyes closing. 

“I’m thinking of taking a nap, dude,” Stiles murmurs. “What are you going to next?”

“Bed.”

Stiles blinks twice. “Seriously, dude, you don’t have to. I’ll be okay alone. I just need…”

“ _Bed_.” It’s Scott’s alpha voice, and even though Stiles isn’t a wolf, it’s enough to make him let Scott lead him toward the elevator, heading for the room on feet that stumble every few steps. They pause in the hall long enough to kiss again, Scott’s hand over Stiles’s heart.

He’s sure Scott can hear the way it’s racing, but Scott doesn’t say anything. 

“Why?” Stiles asks when the door closes, and Scott’s expression goes shuttered at the question.

He turns away, stripping and revealing the lean lines of tanned skin. Stiles wants to approach—wants to touch while he can—but not while Scott’s refusing to look at him. “Because,” Scott finally says, and when he turns around there’s a light in his eyes, a quirk to his smile. “Because I’m going to tackle you into that bed, and you are going to _rest_.”

Stiles feels like he’s walking on eggshells today, like something changed and maybe Scott’s not all in on the ruse anymore, and he doesn’t know what to do. He toys with the edge of his shirt, starting to tug it up, stretching the material as he stands there, chewing on his lower lip. “Scotty… I don’t want anything to be awkward when we get back to Beacon Hills. You’ve been my best friend since we were kids and I don’t want to lose that.”

“I don’t want to either,” Scott admits, and there’s a hint of something in his eyes, in the way that they crinkle at the corners but his mouth still turns down. Stiles stares at him for a long time, trying to read his expression, and fails miserably.

He’s always been able to read Scott, and losing that ability is driving him nuts.

With a small huff of a sigh, Stiles yanks his shirt over his head, then shoves down his jeans without ceremony—if he’s going to nap, he’s going to be comfortable. He’s just straightening up again when Scott’s arms go around him, bearing Stiles back until they both fall onto the bed, and Scott leans over him, grinning.

“Warned you,” Scott says, and Stiles laughs.

They manage to inch up on the bed, Scott still sprawled over Stiles as if he could keep him still. It’s a bit like wearing a hot blanket, and Stiles nudges at him lightly. “Dude, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not _capable_ of going anywhere today, I’m so fucking tired.”

“Mmph.” Scott turns slightly, nuzzling into Stiles’s throat, his scruff scratching tender skin. “I’m comfortable, and I’m staying. Besides: scent marking. You should smell like we snuck up here for a quickie.”

“That would require orgasms,” Stiles says dryly.

There’s a momentary hesitation before Scott’s words slide across Stiles’s skin. “We could do that too.”

Oh fuck, he is so _screwed_ because just the thought of it is enough to get the blood flowing into Stiles’s dick. By the time Scott’s fingers drift down his side and across his stomach, Stiles is fully hard and ready to be touched. 

He matches touch for touch, reaching into Scott’s boxers, wrapping his hand around his best friend’s cock. “It has to be fast,” Stiles murmurs. “I really do need a nap.”

“I know.” Scott mouths at his throat until Stiles tips his head back, letting Scott sucks marks across his pale skin. He arches up into Scott’s touch. Stiles jerks Scott with a quick twist of his wrist, rolling over the head and back down, teasing just so until Scott’s hips lift to meet his touch. By this point, they already know where to touch, how to make it _good_.

He cries out softly, and Scott covers his mouth with a kiss. Stiles reaches up, threads his fingers into Scott’s hair to anchor him, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss as he anxious thrusts. Scott moves to push up over him, grabbing Stiles’s hands and pushing them to the side, holding them down as he drags his hips against Stiles, cock sliding against cock. “Fuck,” Stiles groans, and Scott grinds down harder against him.

Stiles pushes back, hips frantic, seeking his release, and when it comes, Scott claims his mouth again, before moving to suck on his neck, nipping as he loses control as well.

Stiles shoves at Scott, and they rearrange to end up in a sticky pile on the bed, Stiles sprawled across Scott with Scott’s arm wrapped around him, holding on. “Nap now,” Stiles murmurs. “We need to talk more about the contract later. You left too quick this morning.”

Scott is almost too silent at that, and Stiles wonders if he has already fallen asleep. Breath is low and even before he finally replies. “Yeah, I… sorry about that. I shouldn’t have left.”

“I don’t want this to be weird,” Stiles whispers again, because he has the feeling it’s too late. There’s no way back from this, no way to go back into the space where he can pretend he isn’t in love with his best friend.

“It’s not.” Scott inhales long and slow, lets it out in a long rush of breath. “I promise, it’s not. Just get some sleep, Stiles. We’ll talk about the contract later.”

_And us_? Stiles wants to ask, he doesn’t want to ask, he doesn’t want to _know_. What he wants is what he’s got, right here and right now, curled up half across Scott’s body with Scott wrapped around him. _This_ is perfect. He tries to relax, not letting himself think about whether Scott might recoil away from him again when they wake. Luxuriate in the moment, and try not to think about what’s yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So seriously, I don't even know how to apologize. I swear that this is not, and will not be, abandoned. I have roughly outlined the rest of it, and expect it to go to 10 chapters (maybe 9 if I end up combining two). I'm not sure I'll be doing weekly updates, because I am seriously slammed with deadlines, but I'm aiming for every other week.
> 
> And remember, if you want to find me in the meantime, I'm [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles’s phone rings in the elevator on the way down to the banquet room. He reaches into his pocket, turns it off as all the wolves glare at him for the volume of his ringtone. Scott leans in, nuzzles against Stiles’s throat, and the others in the elevator look away. Stiles wonders is maybe they aren’t the sensation that they were for the first few days of the conference.

“Do you need to get that?” Scott murmurs, and Stiles shakes his head.

“I don’t want to be rude. I’ll step outside before dinner.”

“Don’t be late.” Scott nips at him, and Stiles makes a sound that he can’t help; one of the wolves clears his throat.

It’s rude to kiss him back in public, but Stiles does anyway, lingering over the taste until the elevator reaches the lowest floor. He doesn’t know how much more of this he will get, and he wants to take advantage of any chance he has to touch Scott, _taste_ Scott, before it’s over. He pulls back slowly when the doors open, gaze dropping away from meeting Scott’s eyes.

He needs to keep his mind on track, somehow.

It would also be rude to be late to the final dinner of the conference; Stiles remembers what Lydia drilled into his mind about werewolf politics and how _important_ this final meal is. This is where alliances are made and broken, this is where recognition and awards are given, this is where _everything_ happens in the end.

But it was Lydia who called, and Lydia _knows_ that _right now_ is the time for the dinner, therefore it has to be important. As they step out of the elevator, Stiles holds up his phone. “Let me just go deal with this, make sure Dad’s okay, and I’ll be right in. I promise.”

Scott’s expression is dubious, and Stiles wills him to read his mind and understand that it’s not a Stilinski thing, it’s a pack thing. Eventually Scott softens, reaches to touch Stiles’s cheek. “I’ll see you inside,” he says.

“You two are sweet,” murmurs a voice near Stiles, and he glances up to see a grandmotherly wolf flash her eyes at him. He wants nothing more than to head outside and check in with Lydia immediately, but he pauses, because no one just walks away from an alpha who has made her presence known. She pats his shoulder. “It’s good to see two young men so in love. It bodes well for your pack to have such a strong example leading them, and packs led by an alpha and emissary who have bonded are so much stronger.”

“Thank you.” It’s the best he can do, when he really wants to sit her down, ask her about her experience. Whether she’s a born wolf, or bitten. Whether she knows this because she’s been through it. Where her pack is, and what they’re like and _why_ does she think they’re bonded and what does that even mean? There is something about her that draws him in, and he hesitates for a long moment, lips pursed like he’s going to speak again.

He’s wasting time, but he’s also being polite. It’s a careful balance and Stiles teeters on the edge between curiosity, politics, and the need to know why Lydia is calling.

“Go.” She nudges him toward the door. “Go check in on your father like a good son. Go outside where you don’t have to worry about curious ears. We can talk another time.” She presses a card into his hand, and he just barely catches her name—Hannah Montrose. He doesn’t recognize it or catch where her pack is from before she walks away, steady and calm on legs that look too thin.

She eighty, if she’s a day, he thinks, and Stiles wouldn’t be surprised to find out she’s even older. After all, he’s met Satomi, who was an adult back in the second world war and doesn’t look much older than fifty or sixty now. He’s not sure how many years a wolf has to see in order to _look_ old, but he’s also impressed that she’s lived long enough to reach that point. He gets the feeling there aren’t many who make it that far.

He tucks the card into his pocket, making a mental note to seek her out later or possibly accidentally bump into her emissary somewhere in the conference. Then he slips through the door and around the side of the hotel until he can finally find some privacy and fish his phone out of his pocket and to Lydia back. In the evening darkness he chooses phone only, rather than a video call.

“You _did_ realize that if I’m calling, it’s important, yes?” Lydia snaps. “Or were you too busy with Scott—”

“Don’t.” The one word is sharp and flat, because she is all too clearly reminding him _yet again_ that there is only one day left in this charade and Stiles isn’t ready to give it up yet. “I was in an elevator and didn’t think that we should have whatever conversation you wanted while I was surrounded by wolf ears, then an alpha named Hannah Montrose stopped me when I was on the way out of the building to congratulate me on how well bonded Scott and I are.”

He can hear Lydia’s murmur repeating Hannah’s name and the scratch of a  pen as she takes notes. “Well.” She sighs, a soft huff of breath that Stiles knows means she’s trying to ready just the right words. “I know you are about to go in to the big dinner, but do you think there is any way that you can avoid being near Matthew and Aliana?”

“Doubtful. They arranged things so that we’d be at the same table. I think they’re hoping that we’ll go out afterward to finish talking about the contract and make arrangements.” Stiles fiddles with the card in his pocket, bending it back and forth. “Why? And speaking of that, you know that if I try to slip in once opening remarks have started, everyone will notice just how disrespectful and late I am.”

“It begins at seven and there will be _at least_ twenty minutes of milling about with appetizers and drinks.” Lydia makes a noise of irritation. “You have plenty of time, and this is more important.”

“More important than impressing—and not pissing off—every single wolf pack that is here?”

“Yes.” Her voice is flat and decided. “You need to know what you’re up against, and why Matthew and Aliana want you so badly. It’s not good news. Also, Jordan, Braeden, and Danny are on their way, so try not to die before they get there.”

“Die?” Stiles does his best not to squeak, but honestly, death was _not_ on the menu when they came to this conference. “This is supposed to be a vacation, Lydia. We left Beacon Hills behind.”

“Apparently they brought bad luck with them. Do you remember the Darach?”

“How could I forget?” There are a lot of things from their lives that are engraved in very sharp relief in Stiles’s memory, and his English teacher trying to sacrifice his father is definitely one of them. “Are you saying he’s a dark druid like her?”

“Not exactly the same, but it’s close.” There’s the sound of something moving, like she’s fiddling with a pen. “We had to dig, Stiles, because they’ve hidden this information very very well. Matthew is a druid—born and bred. Everything he told you is true, and you’re right: werewolves are not normally druids. He’s not a werewolf, but he is something _like_ a werewolf. It seems quite a few werewolves have died while in the care of the Stafford pack, always for causes that appear on the surface to be nothing to do with the pack. They’ve done a remarkable job of keeping their noses clean; obviously we suspected nothing before this conference began.”

“You wanted me to talk to them,” Stiles reminds her. He leans back against the wall, lets his head fall back but can’t close his eyes, feeling like he needs to be aware of everything nearby, just in case. “We were all set to go for this alliance, and something just… didn’t feel right.”

“Good instincts.” Her words are quiet, proud. “Anyone else would have been drawn in and signed right away, I’m sure. The contract is binding. _Very_ binding. I have no doubts that had you signed, you and Scott would have been dead within the year. And somehow Scott’s alpha abilities would have passed to someone in his pack, just as they should, except for the part which would have been siphoned off by Matthew. Or perhaps he would have killed Liam instead, siphoned Scott’s power through his death as his first bitten beta. I don’t know _how_ he does it, but he has targeted our pack. And you need to be very wary, and not allow yourselves to be alone with them. No matter what.”

Stiles feels like he can’t breathe. It’s too much information, too dangerous, and he _just left Scott alone_ with them. No matter that they’re in a room surrounded by other wolves, he can’t help but panic over the idea.

“Breathe, Stiles,” Lydia whispers, and Stiles does, sucking in air and gasping it out for a moment until he finds his rhythm.

“I need to go. Scott’s on his own.” He reaches for the _end_ button, but Lydia’s voice stops him.

“I’ll text you the travel plan,” she says quickly. “They need to get their armaments together, but they’ll be there soon enough and you’ll have backup. No one fucks with our pack, Stiles.”

“I know,” he whispers. And he does. He knows that they have backup, they have _people_ and after all their years together, they can do so much as a pack. But right now he needs to get back to Scott. “I need to get to that dinner and make nice with our would-be murderer. Bye, Lydia.”

He ends the call, then jots a quick text and sends it to Scott.

_We need to talk_.

Hopefully Scott will recognize that as the SOS that it is. Getting privacy is nearly impossible right now, and Stiles is worried. Very worried. But all he can do is go back in and play the role of a perfect emissary and doting boyfriend, which would all be a lot easier and more pleasant if he didn’t have other things on his mind.

His phone buzzes and he sees the answering text: _I understand. Later._

Stiles licks his lips, worries that Scott thinks he means something else. He doesn’t know how to get it across, how to say _this isn’t about us_ and _watch out for Matthew_ when he knows that they are _right there_ with Scott. His fingers move slowly, typing out one more message, not sure if anything he says makes sense right now.

_Just remember, I love you, dude_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Yes, we are really BACK. The chapters through the end might be a little shorter, but hopefully that will help me get them up more quickly. My goal is to update at least once a week until it's done, although with luck it will be more often. I thought about waiting for Sunday for this update, but honestly, I was just so excited that it was done that I wanted to post it right away!!
> 
> Don't forget, if you want, you can find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	7. Chapter 7

The ballroom is packed with milling werewolves and emissaries when Stiles walks in. It is almost cloying with how many of them there are, worse than the meet and greet just a couple of days before. Then it had all been new, and he’d been with Scott when he arrived, and they’d met the mess together. Now Stiles is on his own, wary of what Matthew and Aliana could be doing to Scott with him away, and anxiety is pricking under his skin. It takes everything he has to keep it at bay, try to force his heart rate to normal.

“Are you all right?”

He recognizes her voice before he turns, and he smiles to see Hannah Montrose again. She has a young woman by her side now—not all that much older than Stiles himself—with Hannah’s hand tucked neat into the crook of her arm as they walk together. “I’m fine,” he says, and tries by sheer force of will to make his scent and heart say the same thing. “I just don’t know where Scott got to while I was outside.”

“It’s hard to be separated, isn’t it?” Her expression is gentle, perhaps a little worried. “I remember those early days, when it felt as if the bond between us stretched too thin if we were far apart. Just close your eyes, dear. You’ll find him.” She pauses, then laughs a little. “And oh yes, this is Emily, my granddaughter and the Montrose emissary.”

The woman sticks her hand out, her grin giving her little lines around the corners of her eyes as if she is often amused at the world. “Put several _greats_ in the front of that, and you’ll be right,” she says, her voice husky. “Mamé says  she gave you her card earlier. I’d like to talk to you sometime after the conference, if you’re interested. I haven’t had the chance to catch up to you here, and I suspect we don’t have long before the dinner begins.”

Stiles wants to talk to her. After that confirmation of just how _old_ Hannah is, he _really_ wants to pick Emily’s brain. “I am going to call you,” he promises, and he’s sure Lydia will green light him for that conversation. He gets a _good_ feeling from Emily. Not the _I am controlling your mind_ sort of good feeling, but just a vague feeling of calm that eases the itch in his skin. She’s definitely someone he wants to know, and he thinks the Montrose pack is a far better option for an alliance than the Staffords. But not right now. He can’t indulge himself right now.

“Good. Of you send her email at the address on her card, she’ll forward it on to me if you ask,” Emily suggest.

“Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself.” Hannah’s nudges at him. “Go find your alpha before you jump out of your skin. I can see that you have no patience for politics right now.”

Stiles still can’t _see_ Scott, so he decides that maybe Hannah does know what she’s talking about, and closes his eyes. As soon as he does, he _knows_ where Scott is and it doesn’t even feel odd, like he’s _always_ been able to do this. In class, on the playground, whenever they’ve been near each other. Stiles has always been aware of Scott like nobody else. He turns in place and opens his eyes and starts walking, letting instinct pull him through the crowd.

He finds himself at the front of the room, near the head table where speakers are already lining up as if they will be sitting soon. Scott looks up just in time to see him and beams at him, a bright smile full of sunshine that lances into Stiles when he has his senses open like this. It tangles around his heart and squeezes, then slides down into his dick and warms him from the inside out. It’s a punch to the gut, and the only thing he can think to do to stop the electricity sliding through him is to taste Scott.

Stiles slides into his waiting arms, nuzzles in close and licks at his collar bone. Then he tilts his head, claims a long, slow kiss, relaxing slowly in Scott’s arms. He doesn’t care about the fact that they have an audience. He doesn’t care that Matthew makes a noise almost too low to be heard that might be irritation. He doesn’t even care that this might be one of the last times that he gets to do this, or that he’s cheating by taking advantage of being in a public place so he _can_ do this. Stiles just _does_ it and enjoys it for as long as he can, until Scott pulls back and nuzzles him, nose to nose.

“Hey,” Scott says quietly, gaze fixed on Stiles. “Everything okay with your dad?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. He figured we’d be breaking for dinner—I guess Lydia didn’t impress the importance of timing on him—and thought he’d check in. She’s going over there to make him eat healthy tonight.” It isn’t a message, not exactly. They don’t have a code for _these people are evil, confirmed by our banshee_. He can make sure Scott understands that Stiles doesn’t trust them. He can mention Lydia and hope that Scott realizes who Stiles was really talking to. But there is no time to drag him off to the bathroom for a quickie and a whispered conversation, no matter how much Stiles really wants the first and needs the second.

Scott stiffens, and a moment later there is a soft, amplified cough. The crowd moves in eerily quiet motion to their assigned tables, and Stiles sinks into the chair that Scott tugs out for him. He is seated next to someone he’s never met, while Aliana is on Scott’s other side and Matthew next to her. Two other pairs round out their table of eight, and Stiles is damned sure he should remember the names of the people he is seated with, politically speaking.

He does his best, repeating their names back to them in the first parts of the conversation, but after a few minutes he can’t remember if the girl to his right is Shelley or Shelby or maybe it was Haley. He remembers DJ only because the wolf admits that he used to be called Dan until his best friend started watching Stargate and teased DJ about being Daniel Jackson. Between sharing a name with Stiles’s least favorite asshole and the geeky story, Stiles will remember that one. The other two men at the table are completely forgotten after another ten minutes of quiet conversation.

“You okay?” Scott touches his knee, leans in to whisper even though Stiles is sure the other werewolves at the table can probably hear.

“I’m fine. I’m just… it’s been a long conference.” Stiles hopes they’ll chalk his erratic breathing up to exhaustion. “Between all the panels, meeting everyone, and well, all the fantastic hotel me and you private time, I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep and _some_ of us are only human. Not to mention that you know how good I am at sitting still.”

Apparently there are no such things as private conversations when you’re sitting with werewolves, and Shelley/Shelby/Haley leans over, curious and asking why he doesn’t like to sit still. Stiles can’t be impolite so he explains about ADD and Adderall. Understanding lights up, and each of the werewolves leans close, inhaling his scent, presumably to tease out the medicinal notes.

Stiles has never been so pleased to hear someone start lecturing in his life. When the conference started, he’d been looking forward to this evening. They aren’t up for any awards or recognition, but it’s a great place to hear information about specific packs and to see why they are well-known. He fully expects that Scott is going to be doing great things in the national werewolf community, and eventually they’ll be up there. But just _being_ a True Alpha isn’t enough; he needs to _do_ something first.

Something more than just surviving Beacon Hills. They need to build, and change, and grow.

Maybe next year they’ll be hosting panels and giving talks and being awarded things. If they make it out of this year alive.

Food is brought out during the presentations, and for a time there is nothing more they can do other than eat and listen and politely clap at the right time. Stiles tries to remember the details of the packs that he is seeing, but he’s sure his eyes must glaze over. Shelley/Shelby/Haley leans in close to murmur that there will be video online after everything’s done, for those who want to see it again. All videos will be locked to attendees only, which makes sense, considering the subject matter.

Eventually, the presentations end, and conversation rises as dessert is delivered in a rush of options from tiny cheesecake samplers to decadent slices of chocolate cake. Stiles can’t imagine eating any of it and waves it away.

“It’s not quite right, but the best name we have for her is Valkyrie.” Scott gestures with his fork as Stiles realizes that _somehow_ Scott has been lured into talking about their pack. “She doesn’t deliver souls anywhere, but she _is_ a warrior.”

Stiles presses his foot against Scott’s under the table, a quiet pressure.

“Is she the one who survived an alpha’s attack?” Aliana murmurs, tone intrigued and polite. “We’ve heard rumors.”

From Deucalion, no doubt. Stiles _still_ disagrees with the decision Scott and Derek made to let Deucalion live, but since the psychotic alpha left and never came back to Beacon Hills, there’s very little he can do about it. Unless it turns out that Deucalion is making their lives miserable by throwing other packs at them. Then he can work on the problem.

“We’re a pack of survivors.” There is no mistaking the pride in Scott’s voice. “We’re a unique pack, and everyone is accepted. Whether it’s a dragon or a unicorn or a phoenix—” He stops when Stiles knocks into his ankle, hard, and has a sheepish expression. “We’re like family. I could go on about them all forever. Except maybe Greenberg; no one really knows what to do with him. We used to think he was Coach’s hallucination, except it turns out—”

Stiles’s phone buzzes and he is glad for the _perfect_ excuse, hands flailing out in surprise. He knocks over Scott’s water, manages to elbow Shelley/Shelby/Haley on the return stroke, and finally gets his phone out of his pocket. The text reads simply _8am_ and he sighs. “We apparently have a meet up at the ridiculous hour of eight in the morning, buddy,” he says, while Scott mops water off his shirt.

“We’ll just make it worth waking up.” Scott tilts his head, and Stiles shrugs, not showing him the phone because he doesn’t want anyone else to peek over and see that it’s from Braeden, especially now that she’s been outed as a Valkyrie.

“Who is Coach?” DJ leans his elbows on the table, and Stiles is only too happy to latch onto a distraction. He launches into a description of their intrepid coach, cheerily pointing out that he is nothing more than human.

Scott gives Stiles a sideways look when he falls into mimicking Coach, calling out some of his more memorable encouraging speeches from Lacrosse. It works, though, and Scott follows him down memory lane, talking about the different ways in which the supernatural affected high school sports in Beacon Hills. It only takes a little nudging to get Scott onto the subject of his first beta and their alliance with Satomi’s pack, which is a far safer topic of conversation than valkyries and unicorns.

“Scott.”

Stiles stops speaking as soon as he hears Matthew’s voice saying Scott’s name. He stumbles over his words, smiles through the embarrassment when DJ gives him a curious look and shrugs one shoulder toward Scott. It should be all the explanation he needs.

“We’re heading down to the hotel bar, if you’d like to join us and we can discuss the particulars of the contract,” Matthew suggests. “Both of you, of course.”

“We don’t drink,” Scott says, “but we’d be glad to join you.”

“We haven’t finished going over the contract,” Stiles points out, which is only sort of a lie. He doesn’t have the details he needs to be able to _fake_ knowing everything about the contract, but he _knows_ it’s trouble. “Maybe we’d be better off meeting up after breakfast tomorrow. Give us one more night to get through the details and make sure that our pack’s good with everything. Or make a list of questions.”

Aliana’s lips purse with amusement. “If you do not get distracted.”

A flush rises to his cheeks because _of course_ they all think he’s more interested in sex than politics. That’s the impression he’s been trying to give, and apparently they’ve gotten it, loud and clear. “I’m just saying that we’re not quite ready to sign on the dotted line yet, but that doesn’t mean we can’t join you for some social time and you could tell us more about your pack and arrangements you’ve made with other packs?” he says.

And that gives him an idea to keep them from being completely alone with the Stafford pack. “Why don’t we all head down together and you can tell us about pack life,” Stiles suggests. “Everyone keeps saying that ours is unique, but we don’t know a lot about other packs. Our only real close experience is Satomi’s pack, and I get the feeling that hers is less traditional, since she’s a bitten wolf and her pack has never really had the influence of a born wolf.” He taps his fingers on the table, restless and hoping that Scott’s getting his signals. “I met up with an emissary earlier that I’d like to talk to more; I could invite her and her alpha as well. I think you’d like them.”

Aliana’s irritation is clear even to Stiles, enough so that Shelley/Shelby/Haley blurts out a quick _no thanks_ and pushes her chair back as if to leave. Scott growls softly, and the younger woman hesitates uncertainly.

“Anyone who would like to join us is invited,” Scott says quietly. “I don’t want to talk about the alliance tonight. Or if we do talk about it, tell us more about the other packs you’ve worked with, and how you’ve worked with them. Show us why we should ally with you. The contract is just paper; what’s important is how we could actually work together.”

This is the leader that Scott can be, when he’s not just a goofy kid who happens to have incredible powers. And this is the man that Stiles has loved for a very long time. Firm, strong-minded, and thinking about the people rather than the logistics.

It’s also why Scott has Stiles, because _someone_ needs to handle the logistics.

“Negotiations are usually private between two packs,” Aliana says quietly.

“This isn’t a negotiation right now,” Scott says. “We have the contract, we just need to finish going through it, and we can talk about that tomorrow after breakfast.”

“What we want is to be wooed.” Stiles threads his fingers with Scott’s, leans into his shoulder. “Show us the people side of things. Tell us why our younger betas want to spend a summer on the east coast. Tell us what you’ll bring to our pack when you visit us in Beacon Hills.”

Aliana and Matthew exchange glances, then nod slowly. Matthew smiles, but Stiles sees the teeth that he keeps hidden, his lips stretched tight over an invisible snarl. “Wooing over drinks,” Matthew says. “I believe we can oblige. Just give us a few minutes, and we’ll go upstairs and fetch my laptop. We have pictures from pack gatherings that might sway your opinion favorably.”

It all seems perfectly polite and almost friendly, but Stiles knows he’s not the only one who feels the dangerous vibes from the Stafford pack. Shelley/Shelby/Haley takes two steps back and makes her apologies before disappearing with her partner, and DJ isn’t far behind.

“No drinks,” Scott reiterates. “We’re a young pack, remember? Soda will be fine for us.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never had a drink?” Aliana makes a tsking sound. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Sneaking a drink when I was sixteen and hanging out in the woods is different than a public drink at a conference,” Scott says quietly. “I understand that according to werewolf law, I’m an alpha with a pack of my own and an adult, but according to human law, I’m still not old enough to drink, and I don’t want to be arrested or cause trouble for the conference. So no alcohol.”

Drinks would only affect Stiles anyway, since Scott metabolizes alcohol too quickly to feel the effects. And he’s fairly certain, given what he knows about Matthew, that he is _absolutely_ the only one in this party of four that would be affected.

“Very well,” Aliana murmurs. “Why don’t we say thirty minutes, and we’ll meet in the hotel bar. That will give the two of you time to… freshen up.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, lifts Scott’s fingers to his lips, licking the tips before nipping at them. “I think we’re predictable,” he says. “Not that I am ever going to argue alone time.”

“Thirty minutes is enough time to take it slow,” Scott teases, coming to his feet and tugging Stiles with him. “We’ll see you downstairs in thirty. Don’t mind us if we rush off right now.” He grins, and together they head through the crowd.

Some people have left, some are still talking. Their table is the only one that has completely dispersed, leaving a hole where they used to be. Stiles spots Emily and Hannah on his way by and waves, manages to call out _bar_ as he passes, but he’s not sure they heard him. Maybe they’ll show up, maybe not, but at least he doesn’t expect Hannah to be scared off by Aliana’s posturing. And it would certainly be interesting to watch.

Who knows, maybe Stiles could keep Scott safe, learn a few things, and be entertained, all in one evening. It’s worth a try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Complicated" is a good way of describing life, Stiles thinks. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting! I have almost completed the ENTIRE DRAFT of this story (not bad after having to let it sit since September!) and hope to finish the rough draft of the last chapter today. That means I will be posting on Wednesdays and Sundays until it is DONE, which is only three more chapters after this one. We're almost there!
> 
> And if you'd like to find me in the meantime, please feel free to look me up [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The Stafford pack uses dubious means to try to coerce Scott and Stiles. I just wanted to give a heads up for anyone who might be uncomfortable. Please check the end notes for more information, if you need to know details.

They never make it to their room.

Scott pulls Stiles with him, exiting the elevator two floors before the one they are staying on. When Stiles makes a noise of protest, Scott pushes him up against the wall, buries his nose against his throat and inhales roughly. Teeth drag over Stiles’s skin before he hears Scott whisper, “You said you saw Matthew on our floor. If you want to talk, we probably don’t want to be in our room.”

“Fuck, I love that you can read my mind,” Stiles whispers, and Scott laughs, takes the time to slide his body along Stiles’s, kissing him slowly.

“Love you too, dude,” Scott murmurs against his lips, so quiet that it slips away before Stiles can acknowledge it. He knows what Scott means, _how_ Scott means it in a _best friends_ sort of way, but it still sends warmth coiling into his gut and he wonders _do they have enough time_?

“We need privacy,” Stiles tells him, managing to get a hand under Scott’s shirt before he nudges him back. They have less than thirty minutes and he wants to _make_ time. He wants to take advantage of every second they have before the conference is over, and besides, they need to come back smelling like each other. For the ruse.

Scott pushes back in, hand curling around Stiles’s head, fingers cradling his skull as he claims his mouth, fucks him with his tongue. “Not really.” His hips shift, rolling against Stiles hard enough to make him groan, feeling weak in the knees.

“People…”

“No one’s around. Make it quick.”

They are in the middle of the hallway, and this is _not_ where they should be doing this. Stiles’s hands work without his brain, shoving under the edge of Scott’s jeans, pushing against the button until he manages to pop it open, the zipper sliding down with the force of the movement. Scott groans, head leaning against Stiles’s shoulder when Stiles gets his hand over his cotton-clad cock. “Fuck,” Scott whispers.

_Someday_ , Stiles’s mind replies hopefully.

He spots the bright _Exit_ sign and _that_ is just perfect. “Stairwell,” Stiles whispers. “C’mon, let’s go.” He manages to push at Scott, and they stumble together through the door and out into a stairwell that smells faintly of old cigarettes and alcohol. Scott wrinkles his nose, but Stiles doesn’t want him to have time to think about it, so he shoves him back against the wall and yanks his jeans down while he falls to his knees.

Stiles nuzzles in close, mouthing at Scott’s dick through his underwear, loving the way Scott groans loudly, whispering _fuck_ like it’s all he can think right then. Fingers tangle in his hair, and Stiles answers by tugging at the fabric with his teeth, dragging Scott’s underwear beneath his rigid cock. It’s already dripping, a damp spot left on the fabric, a fresh dot welling up at the tip while Stiles looks at it.

He doesn’t have much time, but he doesn’t want to rush this, either. He laps at the slit, tasting that salty drop, then sliding his tongue down Scott’s length. He works him with his hand, spreading slick spit so he can work him with a slight twist, stroking him while he covers the head with his mouth. Scott moans and tilts his hips, rocking and fucking his way into Stiles’s mouth, while Stiles just opens up and tries to let him, tries to take as much as he can.

“Oh _fuck_ , Stiles, you feel so good,” Scott whispers. “Your mouth is so fucking _perfect_.” The words end in a groan, and Stiles widens his eyes, looks up to see Scott staring down at him.

They lock gazes, and Stiles can’t look away. Not with the way Scott is watching him, the way they are staring at each other. Stiles pulls off, a long string of spit linking them for a moment before he lets his tongue dart out, cleaning Scott’s dick and teasing at his slit. He looks up from under long eyelashes, watching every little flinch and groan, loving the way one of Scott’s hands winds through his hair to hold on tight, while the other lightly cups his chin, soft and gentle.

Stiles blinks once, then slowly pushes forward, still watching while Scott’s dick slips as far into his mouth as he can manage. His eyes water, and Scott touches the corner of his eye, capturing the liquid that wells there. 

He can’tbear to watch anymore, gazes locked like they’re _in love_. He can’t handle seeing Scott look at him that way and know that it’s really all _sex_ and nothing more and that he has to pretend this never happened in just another day. They’ll be done here, going home, and going back to being Stiles and Scott, not the single unit that they’ve been playing here.

With a quiet whimper, Stiles closes his eyes and starts to jerk and suck Scott in earnest, working him as quick and hard and deep as he can, until he feels Scott answer with erratic hip movements, breathing harsh in the wide open stairwell.

“Stiles,” Scott whispers, and he can’t help it, his eyes fly open, looking up into the warmth of his best friend’s gaze just as Scott twitches and comes in his mouth.

Stiles swallows what he can, the rest spilling out over his chin, dripping onto the floor. Scott drags him up, kisses him hard, and Stiles knows he has to taste himself on his tongue but he loses himself in it, hungry to take as much as he can before he loses the chance.

“Your turn.” Scott manages to work Stiles’s jeans open, tugs his aching cock out. Stiles twitches and groans at just that much touch.

“Not gonna last,” he warns Scott, because he honestly thinks just a few quick strokes are going to have him losing everything here.

Scott answers by turning them around, shoving Stiles back hard against the wall. He crouches in front of him, nuzzles in close, Stiles’s cock rubbing against the stubble on Scott’s cheek. It’s a weird sensation, rough and prickly and somehow more fucking arousing than he could have ever imagined.

“I’m going to make you scream,” Scott whispers against the inside of his thigh, and it’s so strange to hear him saying that, like the Scott of his fantasies is on his knees here, and when Stiles closes his eyes, he can imagine this will last forever.

He tilts his head back, spreads his legs to brace himself as he lets the wall hold him up. Scott licks, nips, nuzzles against the insides of his thighs until Stiles is whimpering from the stubble burn, his skin aching and his cock so ready to be touched. “Fuck, Scott, I need…” His voice hitches, cracks. “Oh fuck, please, I just…”

“Is this what you want?” Scott rolls his tongue around just the head of Stiles’s cock, teases him.

Yes. No. “ _Fuck_.” The word lips out and Stiles manages to bite back what he really wants to say. _Fuck me_. He wants to beg, he wants to scream, he wants to turn face first to the wall and have Scott open him up and shove into him.

He wants to look down, to stare at Scott with all the love in his heart and let emotion bleed all over them. He wants Scott to _see_ how he feels, to _know_ , but he doesn’t want to fuck up everything they already have.

He presses his lips tightly together, head falling back against the wall. He reaches for Scott, gripping his hair, hips shifting to _finally_ fuck into his mouth. When Scott makes an approving noise, Stiles does it again. “Please,” he whispers.

“Do it,” Scott tells him, and Stiles does it again, over and over until his legs are shaking and his entire body is tight. 

Words spill out of his mouth; he has no idea what he’s saying, what he’s confessing, only that it feels _so good_ and then he’s coming hard enough that he’s shaking, spilling into Scott’s mouth, spurting on his face, leaving white streaks in his beard and on his shirt. He can’t manage to stay standing when he’s done, sliding down the wall to land on the floor, cold under his bare ass.

Scott moves in close, arms around him, pulling him tight against him, body hot where Stiles feels suddenly cold.

“I think you killed me,” Stiles says softly. He can’t breathe, can’t manage to find air.

“We’re all alone,” Scott says quietly, dragging his thumb across Stiles’s lip. When they kiss, it’s soft and gentle and Stiles tastes himself mixing with Scott and he wonders what it’s like to be a wolf and taste that combined scent. It seems so perfect to Stiles; how can Scott not notice?

It takes a moment for his logical brain to realize what Scott has said, that they are _alone_ and they can talk, privately. “It echoes,” he says softly, and it still sounds loud to him.

“And there isn’t a single wolf anywhere near this stairwell right now.” Scott huffs a soft laugh. “I’m pretty sure every single one of them that _was_ near it, isn’t going to dare come in. No one would want to interrupt.”

Because Stiles is that loud. Because Scott made _sure_ he would be that loud, for their cover, and to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted. His skin is flushed, and he buries his face against Scott’s shoulder, loving the way his fingers feel stroking through Stiles’s hair, and yet knowing it means _nothing_ at the same time.

He manages to get his breathing under control with some effort. “It still feels too public.”

“Too public to talk, but private enough for loud sex?” Scott snorts. “You have a really funny way of thinking about things sometimes. Give me the short version at least?”

“We are up shit’s creek and we have reinforcements coming in by early tomorrow,” Stiles whispers against his skin, just behind his ear. “We just need to stay alive until then. Question is whether someone else is going to kill me, or if you are.”

“Is that your way of saying no more sexy stuff?” 

Stiles can’t read the tone of Scott’s voice, can’t decide if it’s disappointment or relief and he’s not sure he wants to know which it is just in case it _is_ relief. “Well, not right this second,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood. “Unless we want to be late and show up with jism on his shirts. And in your beard.” He pulls back enough to look at Scott, sliding his thumb against the sticky bits in his scruff. “You look like you just got out of a porno.”

“That would be _got off in a porno_ ,” Scott corrects him. “But yeah, you’re right. We should probably go take a quick shower and get down to the bar. Because I don’t know about you, but I am not sure I’m comfortable with knowing what’s under my ass on this landing.”

“I was trying not to think about that.” Stiles scrambles to his feet, manages to yank his boxers and jeans up at the same time. He’s probably not _presentable_ , but at least he’s covered up. 

“Is that really all you need to tell me?” Scott asks, hesitating as he’s about to start up the stairs.

No. No, it really isn’t everything. There are so many things Stiles should be telling Scott, from all the little details about just how bad Matthew is, to exactly how Stiles feels and how miserable he’s going to be tomorrow afternoon when they head home (if they survive). Instead, he smiles slightly and says, “Lydia said to remember the Darach.”

“That’s not comforting at all,” Scott mutters.

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Stiles nudges at him. “Come on. We need to get changed.”

#

By the time they get showered and into unstained clothes, they are late getting back to the bar. Aliana smirks and Matthew just gives them a _look_. When he asks after the contract, Stiles claims to have forgotten it and Scott reminds them that they’re just talking tonight. Chatting. Telling stories about life in the pack and seeing what it would be like if they joined forces.

It seems to be that easy to get them to back off as they sit in the bar, taking over one of the couch and chair combinations in the corner. Scott and Stiles sprawl on the sofa, while Matthew and Aliana bracket them in a pair of chairs. Drinks litter the coffee table along with a pitcher of water for Stiles. Scott has a soda in a ridiculously tall glass, with a two twists of lime that he pinches to send the juice into his drink, then tucks the rind in there as well, poking at it with his straw. Aliana watches indulgently, as if she’s amused by the young alpha.

Stiles is just glad that the drinks were brought _after_ they arrived; he wouldn’t trust anything that was sitting on the table before they got there.

He’s not actually interested in anything the Stafford pack has to say; there is nothing that will convince him or Scott to ally with them, he’s confident in that at least. Stiles turns on the sofa, his feet propped up over Scott’s knees while he leans back, looking at the rest of the bar around them. 

No one was brave enough to join them after Aliana’s posturing upstairs, but there are other wolves in the bar. Stiles spots Emily and Hannah at a table on the far side, speaking to people that Stiles doesn’t recognize. He watches them long enough that Emily glances up and over at him, a small smile lighting her lips. Her mouth moves, and forms the word _hey_ , and he smiles in return, lifting his fingers in a quiet greeting.

Fingers tighten against his ankle, sliding under the edge of his jeans to touch skin. Scott’s touch leaves little licks of warmth in the wake of where his fingers move, pulling Stiles’s attention to him. “Flirting with someone?” Scott asks lightly, and Stiles has to laugh.

“Would I do that? Just saying hi to a friend.”

Matthew follows the path of Stiles’s gaze, and his brows furrow. “You don’t want to get involved with the Montrose pack.”

Stiles sees the way Hannah’s ears prick slightly, twitching as if she heard them. Of _course_ she heard them, and Stiles doesn’t want to start a werewolf turf war here in the bar. He opens his mouth, but Scott beats him to the punch, saying, “We believe in keeping our options open. Nothing’s signed yet, and we are aware of the need to choose the right allies.”

Scott’s nostrils flare as Aliana’s gaze narrows. Stiles is pretty sure that the words came out innocently, but they are both taking it as if Scott threatened them. From the other side of the room, Emily ducks her head quickly as if someone kicked her under the table, and Stiles turns back to the pack he is with.

“We came here with the intention of meeting alphas and emissaries from several packs,” Stiles says lightly.

“Forgive us if we have monopolized your time,” Aliana murmurs. “That was never our intention.”

Stiles catches the word repetition, the way she adds slight inflection on _intention_ as if to say that they _meant_ to keep them from talking to other packs. It puts lie to the actual meaning of the words, even if her heartbeat doesn’t change. He presses his lips together, tries to keep a smile pasted on and his heartbeat even. Matthew tilts his had, and Stiles is _positive_ that he’s been listened to. Paid attention to.

That he’s _caught_.

“It’s okay.” Scott slides his hand under Stiles’s jeans, stroking his skin just for a moment. When he pulls away, Stiles is left cold, particularly when Scott reaches for Aliana instead, fingers tracing a similar path down her arm. “We understand, and we’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent with you.”

_No we haven’t_.

Stiles bites back the word, trying to figure out the abrupt about face and the pleased expression Aliana is wearing.

“We’ve actually hoped to spend more time with you,” she murmurs, leaning in close. Scott seems drawn in to her gravity, tilting towards her until Stiles’s legs slip from his lap, unable to keep purchase. “There is so much we could learn from a true alpha and an emissary who seems determined to make himself known in the werewolf community.”

“I’d hoped to pick your brain,” Matthew says lightly, and Stiles suspects that he means _literally_. 

The image of Matthew picking through his skull, fingers dripping in grey matter, is far too vivid in his mind and he shudders, leaning back against the sofa. He grabs onto Scott’s arm, tries to pull him closer. “Yeah, I’m actually pretty tired,” Stiles says quickly. “And Scott, dude, we need to finish going over that contract.”

Scott stays where he is, fingers moving lazily over the skin of Aliana’s arm while he stares into her eyes.

Stiles knows that look. He’s seen that look before, when Scott looked at Allison, or when he looked at Kira, or that girl Kimberly when they were in college.

He thinks maybe he saw it in the stairwell, but he’s sure that was just the fantasy in his mind and a lot of wishful thinking.

He’s seen that look before, and right now might be the most dangerous moment that it’s ever come up.

Stiles nudges at his hip. “Scott!”

“Aren’t her eyes beautiful?” Scott sighs. “She reminds me of Allison, only older. You don’t mind that I say you’re older, do you? Because you are. We’re adults, but we’re still fairly young adults, even though we’ve had our walks through hell and come out the other side. You’re not _that_ old. But still older than us. And beautiful. In case you were wondering. Your hair, your skin, and definitely your eyes are beautiful.”

Stiles looks down at the glass of soda on the table, mostly gone and the ice cubes still glittering where they’ve been left behind. He has absolutely no idea _what_ they slipped Scott or when or exactly _how_ , but they did, he’s sure of it. Matthew’s smirk says everything, and Stiles has a horrible feeling that this is completely out of his control and they may not last until reinforcements arrive.

“Why don’t we all head up to our room?” Matthew suggests. “You and I could talk shop while Scott and Aliana talk about the alliance between our packs. I think they might like to get to know each other better.” His voice is low, dark and threatening. Stiles might not be a wolf, but he knows that look. It’s slightly psychotic to his mind. He’s not only seen it before, he’s _been_ it, and he doesn’t like it, not here and now.

“No,” he says firmly. “I don’t know what you’ve given Scott, but this ends here and now. You are _not_ annexing us, and you are _not_ stealing our power.” Stiles doesn’t bother trying to keep his voice down, hopes the other wolves in the room prick their ears at his words and wonder enough to pay attention.

“Would we do that?” Matthew spreads his hands, and Stiles needs to keep watch, not trusting him at all. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way Scott has inched closer to Aliana, still talking quietly. He prays that Aliana has no ability to make Scott promise things in a binding, magical way. As long as Stiles keeps Matthew busy, Scott will be okay, and that’s what’s important.

“Yeah, you would,” Stiles bites out. “Like you’ve done to other packs. Strange deaths. People coming back with less power. Things no one else can explain and _you_ , an emissary with unexplainable wolf-like abilities. I _know_ the word for you, asshole, and you’re screwing with the one pack who has been up against this before. We’ve already dealt with a Darach and we beat her. There is _no way_ I’m letting you take us down.”

His voice is loud now, loud enough that everyone should be looking over, but when he glances past Matthew’s shoulder, people are still drinking and talking and ignoring them.

Matthew’s smirk widens. “You think you’re in control here, but you’re not. You think you have _power_ , and maybe you do, but that’s all you have. Experience will beat pure power and luck any time, and soon all that power will be _mine_.”

He must have done something to make their conversation private, some kind of ward set around this space before they ever arrived. While Scott and Stiles were getting off in a stairwell, Matthew was setting up to well and truly fuck them over, making it so no one cared that things were going to hell here in the corner.

Fine.

Stiles is pretty sure that Matthew is hiding their conversation, making it seem like an innocuous murmur. That’s what _he’d_ do if he were setting up something like this. A bigger illusion—something like the Nogitsune did when it held Stiles’s body hostage—that takes a lot more power and effort, and he doesn’t think Matthew has it in him. So all he needs to do is break through that.

Simple.

Because Matthew is thinking in terms of power and magic. He doesn’t _really_ know what the Beacon Hills pack has been through, what they’ve faced. Magic is one thing, but sometimes the real answer is simple and staring you right in the face.

Stiles pulls his arm back and punches Matthew in the face, quick and hard enough to the chair over, sending him sliding across the floor.

When he hears the growls start, sees the _looks_ , Stiles knows he has their attention.

He’s in control now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: So, if you're checking for details, in this chapter the Stafford pack tries to drug Scott to make him more suggestible. It's something Stiles was watching out for, and it's a little glossed over and everything comes out okay. But it does indeed get into his head for a little bit there, resulting in some dubious decision making if it weren't for Stiles.
> 
> Hey there everybody! Thank you so much for reading and for your awesome comments. We're getting into the end game here! After this there are only two more posts, and then the story will be complete (one week from today!). And don't forget, in the meantime you can come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: There is canon typical blood and violence in this chapter.

Growls rise quickly, wolves and emissaries on their feet. Stiles is breathing hard, hands in fists by his sides, knuckles aching. He’s broken the wards, and no one can ignore them now.

“The McCall pack has broken the accords of the conference!” Matthew yells out, and then everyone’s attention is on _Stiles_ , and the growls are louder.

Fuck. Maybe he isn’t as much in control as he thought.

“You drugged my alpha,” Stiles grinds out, standing his ground. “You are trying to coerce us into an alliance and you plan to steal our power and maybe you’re planning on killing us, like you’ve killed other werewolves before us.”

Matthew stands slowly, brushing dust from his clothes, and Stiles can see him shrugging into power like a cloak. “How could we _possibly_ coerce a true alpha? I’ve heard he can break through wards.”

Stiles bares his teeth, knowing he is grinning like a wolf, but then, he’s learned from the best. “So can I, asshole. Like the ones you put up to keep anyone from paying attention to what you did to me and Scott. You wanted me to able to rant and yell as much as I wanted without anyone noticing. Well guess what, they’re noticing now.”

None of the others have moved, not yet, but Stiles braces himself. Someone’s going to do something, and this time it won’t be him. He wants to goad Matthew into a show of power, wants them _all_ to see what’s standing in front of them. And this time he doesn’t think it’s going to be as easy as blowing mistletoe in his face. Matthew isn’t some scarred husk of humanity driven beyond pain into monsterhood. He chose this path willingly, and Aliana is walking it with him. And Stiles can’t let it go on.

“Stiles?”

He doesn’t want to let Matthew out of his sight, but the note in Scott’s voice calls to Stiles and he has to look.

Scott is standing, Aliana’s hand gripping his arm, her claws at his throat, poised to rip into him. She flashes her eyes, a bright, deep red, as she growls, the sound vibrating out from her and echoed by the wolves around him. It takes everything he has to keep his breath even as he looks at _Scott_ , not her, and meets his gaze. Scott barely moves his head, a hint of a nod, and Stiles makes himself look away.

Matthew has crept closer, easily within reach now, and Stiles lifts his hands slowly, palms facing out, fingers slightly spread. “Don’t hurt him,” he whispers, and he prays that this is the right move.

A sudden cloud of dust blows up around them, settling into a circle that Stiles feels deep in his bones when it seals. The observers leap into action, slamming up against the mountain ash barrier that Matthew has put into place, and Stiles yells out, falling backwards. Matthew grabs his collar, pulls him forward, claws digging into the meat of his arm.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees a splash of blood and Scott falls.

“No!”

“I needed him alive,” Matthew growls, throwing Stiles to one side, claws scraping along skin in a flash of pain that Stiles doesn’t have time to process. He’s close to the border; if he reaches out, he might be able to swipe a hand through the line of ash. If he can just manage to do it without them noticing.

“He’s still alive,” Aliana says carelessly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, we are surrounded, so I suggest you take what you need, kill them both, and we will leave. Do you have any more of your tincture? We’ll need to ensure none of these packs talk.”

Stiles can hear them, can even see them. They are surrounded on all sides by snarling faces and emissaries who seem unable to break through the mountain ash barrier. And when Stiles finally touches it, his fingers slide through the dust and nothing happens. The barrier doesn’t fall.

“Make it quick,” Aliana orders. “I want this done.”

“You can’t do this here.”

She laughs. “No one will remember it when we’re done. It’s hardly the first time.”

There’s a low sound, and Stiles reaches out, throwing himself across the circle to grab Scott’s hand. They link fingers, and Stiles looks at him, sees all that _blood_ , but Scott’s eyes are glowing bright red.

“It’s the first time you’ve met _us_ ,” Stiles says. “There hasn’t been a ward made that can hold us. Ready, Scott?” 

They push backwards together, landing hard against the barrier that Stiles can feel holding him as securely as it holds Scott. He growls in time with Scott, both of them shoving through it until it breaks and they fall through.

Scott rolls over, covering Stiles’s body with his own as other packs flood over them, taking the Staffords to the ground. “Are you okay?” Scott whispers, hands drifting over Stiles’s skin, coming away covered in more blood. “He clawed you pretty badly. You need to get this stitched up.”

“You were almost completely mind-fucked, they wanted to kill us, and now there is a brawl going on behind us, and _that_ is what you’re worried about?”

Scott ducks his head, brushes his lips against Stiles’s. “Yeah, dude, that is _exactly_ what I’m worried about. _You_. The rest of it doesn’t matter.”

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it again, tries to parse exactly what Scott just said and what it meant, but it’s fuzzy in his mind. His brain aches from the force of punching through the barrier, and the noise and growling and now a fresh round of shouting _hurts_ his head. “I’m okay,” he says, and tries to make it as firm as he can. “If you’re okay, I’m okay. But I might need those stitches.”

#

It takes time to get through all the fallout.

Stiles is bundled off to the medical staff—the hotel is more than aware of exactly what kind of conference they are hosting and has gone to great pains to keep non-supernatural people away, which means having EMTs on site for the time and avoiding calls to emergency care.

He has neat punctures on his left arm, between shoulder and elbow, where Matthew gripped him. Each of them is cleaned out with excruciating care, while Scott holds his hand, leaching the pain away. Stiles barely remembers taking the slash across his chest, but there are four lines, seeping blood until they too are cleaned and neatly stitched.

“You’ll scar,” the EMT tells him, her smile gentle and friendly. “But it won’t be too bad. And you should heal cleanly.”

“Handily I do not need pain meds, thanks to my man, Scott.” Stiles pats Scott’s shoulder, not sure if the fuzziness in his mind is from the endorphins, the pain-stealing, or just shock. “But I think I need a bed.”

“I’d recommend it,” the EMT agrees, releasing him into Scott’s care.

But it isn’t that simple, and before they can go upstairs they need to see the conference organizers, give a proper statement to see if it matches with what’s been said by the others. It takes more than an hour of going over the details, while blood is drawn from Scott and tested for foreign substance. Stiles requests a copy of the tox screen when it’s done; he wants to research what was used so he can both learn about it and develop a defense as needed. He doesn’t like the idea that something could be slipped to them so easily.

“I missed it, Scotty,” he murmurs tiredly, leaning against Scott as they finally make their way to their room. “I was watching, and I missed it. I knew Matthew either wanted to kill us or suck us dry, and not in the good way.” By this point he has managed to not only tell Scott everything that Lydia learned, but also talk to Lydia and get a report sent to the tribunal—because of course werewolves have their own shadow government and judicial system. “I was supposed to protect you.”

“You’re my emissary, Stiles.” Scott stops them both at the door, manages to get it open and drag Stiles in. “Fuck this.” With an irritated noise, Scott leans down and lifts Stiles, cradling him so he can kick the door closed, then carry Sitles to the bed.

Scott starts stripping Stiles, and he can’t find it in him to do anything but let him. He’s exhausted, but at the same time, he still feels the skittering touch of fingers over his skin and whines softly when Scott pulls back.

“Did I hurt you?”

Stiles shakes his head. “That isn’t it.” He wraps his fingers around Scott’s wrist, tugs his hand in and presses it to his own chest, just below the fresh bandages. “This is our last night at the conference. Braeden, Jordan, and Danny are going to be here before breakfast, and it’s already past midnight now. We have less than eight hours before we go back to Beacon Hills, and I am not ready to give this up yet.”

Maybe he’s a little too tired to be letting himself talk. Maybe the stress of the night has gotten to him, and the fear that he was going to lose Scott. Maybe he should really just do the wise thing and shut up.

Stiles kind of sucks at doing the wise thing.

“I don’t want to sleep through it,” Stiles whispers. “If I have to go back to being just your best friend, then I want to go out with a bang. I want you to fuck me, Scott.”

Scott pulls his hand free, then sits on the edge of the bed, Stiles’s shirt in his hands, fingers taut. “After what happened tonight, no one’s going to care if we smell like sex in the morning. You were hurt; they all just figure we’ll sleep in and—”

“No.” Stiles interrupts him, reaches up to push a finger against Scott’s lips. “It’s not about what _they_ think. It’s about what I _want_. And Scotty, _I want you to fuck me_. Dude, don’t you get what I’m saying here? I don’t want this to be over, but if it is, I want that one thing. And if you don’t want to, that’s cool. I mean, I love you, dude. That is never going to change. But I just figured, everything we’ve done is good, and maybe you’d want to.”

Scott is too silent, staring down at the floor, and Stiles knows he’s fucked up. It doesn’t take wolf senses to figure that out.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Shit. No. I just…” He scrambles backwards, ignoring the way it pulls in his chest, makes his arm feel like someone is digging into it all over again. “Okay, forget I said anything. Don’t be awkward, Scott. Just… pretend this never happened. I should’ve… I never should’ve… I shouldn’t have let it get to me. It’s just… you looked at me… you looked at me earlier like I… like I…”

 _Like I was Allison_.

“Dude, you almost _died_ tonight,” Scott blurts out. “We are _not_ going to be like Derek and fuck like bunnies when you’re in danger of bleeding out!”

Stiles frowns. “I didn’t almost die. It’s just a scratch.”

“From a supernaturally enhanced druid that shouldn’t have even had claws,” Scott grumbles. “And you needed stitches. You don’t heal on your own and you are _not_ in any kind of shape for sex.”

Wait a second. “Does that mean that if I _wasn’t_ injured, you’d be all over the idea of fucking me?”

“Yeah.” Scott lifts his head, finally _looks_ at Stiles, and that look is there again and Stiles prays he’s reading it right. “You’ve been killing me this week,” Scott says quietly. “I knew it was just a _thing_ for you. And I wanted it to be real.”

“ _You_ wanted it to be real?” Stiles feels like he can’t breathe, like someone’s squeezing around his heart and clawing into it, because this has to be a dream. “ _You_ have been killing _me_ , dude. Every time. Your mouth. Your cock… holy fuck, when you did that thing,” he gestures at his thighs. “But that first night, when I said we should fuck, you looked so _horrified_.”

“Because you only wanted to do it to play let’s pretend!” Scott protests. “I wanted it to be real. If we’re going to do it, I don’t think I can take it if we go back to what we were before.”

“So, you want this.” Stiles gestures between them and waits, because he wants Scott to _say_ it. He wants Scott to _mean_ it, because he’s not sure he can believe it yet.

“I’ve wanted it for years. I think I figured it out back when you were dating Danny. Or maybe it was the hate sex with Isaac.” Scott grimaces. “The really _loud_ hate sex with Isaac.”

“It was _good_ hate sex,” Stiles muses, laughing when Scott swats at his feet. He sobers quickly. “Dude, it was _nothing_ like sex has been with you. So can we fuck now, before my heart explodes with anxiety?”

Scott stretches out over him, moving in slow motion, hips pressed to hips as he balances himself on his hands, leaning over Stiles. He brushes his lips against Stiles’s forehead, his nose, and finally his mouth. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“If you hurt me you can take my pain.” Stiles sighs when Scott glares at him. “Yes, I’m sure. I am so fucking sure, and honestly, if you don’t plan on outright fucking me, at least suck me off so I can get some sleep. And if you’re not going to, I am just going to jerk it with you lying right here next to me, because I am getting off tonight and I will sleep—and heal—better after that. So think of it as good hospital practice.”

“I’m pretty sure that sex is _not_ a part of standard hospital lifesaving technique.”

“Seems to work wonders for Derek,” Stiles quips, his laugh lost in the wonders of Scott’s mouth pressing against his. By the time the kiss breaks, he is breathless, lost in little soft pants and whines. “I think it’s definitely going to make me forget everything else,” he murmurs. “Fuck, Scotty, are we really going to—”

“Yes,” Scott says firmly, his fingers already tugging at the button on Stiles’s jeans. “Yes, we most definitely are going to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost there! The final chapter will post on Wednesday December 4th and then it will be done. In the meantime, please come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!
> 
> UPDATE: Er, I can't add and Wednesday is the 3rd, not the 4th. Either way, it WILL update on Wednesday with the last part, which I am very much looking forward to sharing with all of you!


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles has a chance to catch his breath while Scott tugs his jeans off of him, then strips himself. By the time Scott lies down next to him, the anxiety is back, his heartbeat ratcheting up until Scott presses a hand against his chest. 

“Why?” Scott asks.

“Because I’ve wanted this for so long, and Lydia says I have a terrible history of falling in love with my best friends,” Stiles tells him, hoping he understands just how important this is. “And no one is more of a best friend than you. I can’t imagine a life without you in it. Hannah Montrose told me how to find you—she insists we’re bonded—and she’s right. But that’s nothing new. I’ve always known where you are in my world. You’ve always been my center.”

“And I always will be.” Scott noses at his cheek, waits for Stiles to turn before kissing him gently. “We’ll always be together, Stiles. That’s never going to change. We’re just changing how, and you’re right, it’s going to be brilliant. I just need to know one really important thing?”

Oh shit, what now? Stiles pushes up on one elbow, nervous. “What?”

“Tell me we still have lube left, dude.”

They’re laughing by the time they figure out where the hell the tube went, then Scott shoves Stiles gently, and he falls back on the bed, inching into the middle of it. “So how…” Stiles asks, but he doesn’t get an answer that involves words. Scott just grips his thighs, pushes them back until Stiles can grab onto his own knees and hold them, his body wide open to Scott’s view.

And his tongue— _oh fuck that’s good_. Scott strokes around Stiles’s hole, licks it open with infinite patience, making little nosies like it’s caviar and not ass that he’s eating. “Don’t stop,” Stiles whines.

He almost loses it when Scott whispers, “Be as loud as you want. I love it when you’re loud.”

_They can hear him_. Stiles knows this, and he knows that what Scott is saying is that he loves it when all the other wolves on the floor _know_ that Scott is fucking him into oblivion. They _know_ that he belongs to Scott, and that Scott is a fucking possessive alpha and this is… he cries out when Scott’s tongue jabs into him, panting in the aftermath of the sensation.

“Yeah, like that, Scotty,” Stiles babbles. “Oh fuck, like that.” He lets the words spill out, unable to do anything but lie there, hips jerking, dick leaking all over his stomach while Scott fucks him open with his tongue. He feels wet and sloppy, can feel spit dripping down his ass. He loves it when Scott takes his balls into his mouth, sucks on them while his scruff rubs against the inside of Stiles’s thigh. He loves all of it and begs for more as loud as he can, loving the way that it makes Scott fuck him all the harder with his tongue.

The first finger goes in almost without notice, something with less give that Scott’s tongue, something that Stiles can push back against. Scott twists it, stroking deep inside of Stiles, trying to find just the right angle to make him shout, hips bucking and dick twitching before he adds another finger.

“More,” Stiles whispers. “More, more, more. Fuck me, Scott. C’mon, dude, fuck me already.”

“You sure?” Scott lets his fingers slip out. “Because I want to. I really want to be inside of you, but are you ready?”

“When we get home, I will introduce you to Mr. Violet and you can fuck me wide open with the biggest dildo you have ever seen,” Stiles says. “I will be so loose that you will slip in without me even feeling it, and you can fuck me to your heart’s content. But for now, fingers will have to do, and yes, it might hurt a little, but I am not a virgin, Scott. So _yes_ , I am ready for you. I am _years_ ready for this.”

Scott kneels between his legs, grabs the lube and squirts it over his fingers, working them into Stiles’s hole, making him sticky and slick. Then he spills more over his dick, slicks it up before he leans in, pressing the tip against his entrance. He pauses there, watching Stiles closely.

“I love you, dude,” Scott murmurs, and Stiles has to grin.

“I know.” At Scott’s confused look, Stiles almost laughs, because even though he’s finally seen it, Scott will _never_ get the _Star Wars_ references that Stiles throws at him. Instead he sighs and reaches up, pulling Scott in for a kiss. “Same, dude. Same,” he murmurs.

He tries to relax as Scott slides in, filling him thickly. It takes several strokes, each one going slightly deeper than before, and finally Scott is balls deep, Stiles’s ass lifted slightly with a pillow shoved underneath as Scott kneels there.

“Move, dude,” Stiles encourages him, feeling a little like he’s floating here in a haze of being just about to be fucked. He can’t wait for Scott to move, tries to shift to make him do it, but Scott stays obstinately still.

“Not yet.” Scott reaches for Stiles’s dick, wraps slick fingers around him and starts jerking him from root to tip, twisting slightly around the head just the way Stiles likes it. Which Scott knows, because Stiles told him once in a drunken haze where they described exactly how they like to jerk off, and Stiles squirmed the entire time thinking about Scott doing it for him.

But Scott remembered and he _is_ doing it, his thumb pressing against the slit briefly before his hand goes back down to the base and slides up, rolling over the head again.

“Nngh.” Stiles can’t summon words, his eyes rolling back as his body arches up into that touch. Hips shift, and he fucks himself on Scott’s dick, feeling him go deeper with every roll of his body.

And it feels so fucking _good_.

“I’m so close,” he whispers. “Oh fuck, come on, Scott. Come on, dude. Come in me. Come so hard they’ll be smelling that I’m yours for days.”

Scott twitches, hand going tighter on Stiles’s dick, and that’s it, Stiles is spurting all over his chest, spilling down over Scott’s hands. Scott reaches up, puts one come-soaked fingertip in Stiles’s mouth, and he sucks it in, tongue flicking over the tip of his finger while Scott’s hips jerk and he fucks deep into Stiles, just two strokes before he goes rigid with his own orgasm.

Stiles floats in a haze, dragged out by the ache in his thighs from being held in that position, and the weight of Scott leaning into him.

“You killed me, dude,” Scott mumbles. “Dead.”

“You’re awfully talkative for a dead person.” Stiles nudges at him, tries to move his legs and whimpers. “Oh fuck, cramp. Cramp. Porn never mentions the part where sex involves legs cramping in really uncomfortable positions.”

“Hey, let me help.” Scott’s hand strokes over his calf and the pain bleeds out as he helps Stiles lower his legs. Scott withdraws, and they manage to rearrange themselves lying together on the bed. “Anything else hurt?”

“Aches, but that’ll happen.” Stiles rolls into him, burrowing close. “We are going to sleep now, and when we wake up in the morning, there are going to be lazy hand jobs and sloppy blow jobs and we will be showered and clean before our friends knock on the door at 8am.”

“We could just text them and tell them we’re okay, so that we don’t have to deal with the early morning wakeup call.”

Stiles makes a noise. “That would be logical.” He has to roll away from Scott’s warmth to find his jeans and his phone, and the way it stretches the stitches on his chest is painful when he does it. He manages to get the phone unlocked and lies there on his back, Scott’s hand against his chest to leach the pain, while he sends a text to Braeden.

_Everything’s fine. Still alive. Might not be awake by 8._

“Looks good to me,” Scott offers just before Stiles sends it. He takes the phone from Stiles and is about to drop it when it buzzes, and they both hesitate to see what the answer is.

_Stafford’s taken care of?_

Stiles sighs. “This is your fault.”

“It’s this or them knocking on the door in the morning and we can have a conversation in our underwear,” Scott points out, and Stiles has to admit, he’s right. This is probably better.

He manages to trade enough texts to reassure Braeden that _yes_ , everything’s fine, the conference has the Staffords in custody, and if they want to just turn around and head home now, that’d be fine. But of course, Lydia would kill them if they did that, which means Braeden, Jordan, and Danny will be there shortly, needed or not.

Which reminds Stiles of one more thing that he can do to take care of things.

_Tell Lydia that we don’t want to be disturbed before noon_.

He thumbs the phone to silence and hands it to Scott to be dropped on the nightstand. That one text should tell Lydia everything she wants to know, and should keep them from being dragged out of bed before they’re ready.

Stiles sighs and burrows in close again, wrapping himself up in a Scott-shaped blanket. “Dude, you’re warm.”

“Mm.” Scott nuzzles his cheek. “I love you, dude.”

They’ve said it so many times since they were little, and they’ve always meant it. But this is more, and stiles can luxuriate in the words because now he knows that Scott means them _exactly_ in the same way that Stiles does. “Mm,” Stiles murmurs and nuzzles him in return. “Love you, too.”

#

Lydia is the one to wake them at just after eleven, when she calls the hotel and the room phone rings stridently. Stiles sees seven missed phone calls on his cell while Scott answers the room phone. Stiles winces and holds out his hand, silently offering to take the lecture. “You do not deserve that, dude,” he says, and he can hear Lydia’s voice while the phone is on its way to his ear.

“I can still hear her anyway,” Scott points out, sitting down next to Stiles on the bed.

“Have you two _finally_ managed to settle things between you?” Lydia asks. “Because Braeden is bored, Jordan would like to know exactly who told who that he’s a Phoenix because he has a trail of people asking to set him on fire, and Danny has apparently wandered off to bond with an emissary over computerized pack records and potential trading of bestiary data.”

“You sent me a hacker for muscle and expected him to stay on track?” Stiles says, and Scott snorts softly.

“I sent you a hacker because I had no idea exactly what sort of trouble the Staffords would cause. Braeden and Jordan can handle the physical side, but if there was any form of metaphysical or material damage, you would need Danny. Besides, he’s not terrible at the physical aspect, either,” Lydia retorts. “He was a star lacrosse player for a reason.”

“And if there was a fight, no one would need to ask Jordan to set himself on fire because Danny would have already taken care of it,” Stiles responds. Because that’s happened before, thanks to Danny’s own unique supernatural heritage. “How long do we have before they come up?”

“You have lunch scheduled with the heads of the conference. The final sessions are ending now—which you have missed, but after last night, no one expected you to show. They would like to speak with you about your experiences with the conference and reassure you concerning how the Stafford situation will be handled.”

Stiles makes a face, even knowing Lydia can’t see it through the phone. “Politics.”

Scott covers his hand, squeezes. “Politics. Which we will handle together.”

“Go get showered and make yourselves presentable. I’m sending Jordan up to escort you down.” Lydia pauses just long enough to let that sink in, then pushes onward. “Neither of you is going anywhere alone for the rest of the day. You will pack, you will get your things in the car, and you will stick together. If you must separate, you take another pack member. Do you understand?”

They look at each other and Scott shrugs. There’s no point in arguing with Lydia when she’s organizing them, so Stiles simply agrees.

It doesn’t take long to pack their things, throwing as much as possible into their suitcases, and packing a few things for the day into their backpacks. If the lube somehow ends up in the easily accessible outside pocket of Scott’s backpack, neither of them mentions it, even though Stiles might be mentally mapping out places where they could catch a few minutes of privacy together.

There’s always the stairwell again, too.

When Jordan arrives, Stiles is thankful that Lydia didn’t send any of the werewolves to meet them. With Jordan they can smile and nod and try to ignore the way he seems to have an expression that clearly says _finally_ when he looks at them. They don’t have to worry about his nose wrinkling up at the way the entire room must reek of sex. Instead, Stiles just tangles his fingers with Scott’s and they wrangle the luggage downstairs to meet the others. They leave Jordan and Danny to take care of checking them out, while Braeden accompanies them to their lunch meeting.

“Alpha McCall.”

Stiles stops and turns at the voice, tugging Scott with him. “Alpha Montrose,” he responds with a smile.

“Hannah,” she says, giving a small nod. “And Emily.” Her granddaughter is at her elbow again. 

“Then we’re Stiles and Scott,” Stiles says.

“We were pleased to see how well you handled yourselves last night,” Hannah says quietly. “For so many alphas, such a transgression might have ended in death for one or the other. It is good to see that there are alphas who do not treasure killing above peace.”

“I’m not that sort of alpha,” Scott says firmly.

“I’m glad to know the rumors are true.” Hannah makes her way to them in slow steps, finally ending with her hand held out. Scott takes it, clasps it warmly and shakes gently. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Scott. I knew Talia Hale long ago, and I know Beacon Hills has suffered greatly without leadership. What happened to the Hale family was a tragedy, and I regret being unable to offer sanctuary to her children in the aftermath. Perhaps I could have made a difference, but we were in no position to shelter them at the time. Now, however, we are able to offer our alliance to the pack her son calls home.”

“I will bring your greetings to Derek,” Scott says somberly. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to meet another link to his past.”

“I’d like to visit.” Hannah stays where she is, her stature small but strong. “In one month, myself, my second, and my emissary will be in Beacon Hills and we shall discuss the futures of our packs together. You have the kind of pack where I would like to foster our young, so that they may learn of the world beyond werewolves.”

“They’ll learn a lot in Beacon Hills.” Stiles manages to keep his expression entirely deadpan, but Braeden’s snort is unmistakable, echoed by a similar sound from Emily.

“So we have heard,” Hannah says, and while her expression remains serious, there is a crinkle at the corners of her eyes. “But if they learn to handle life with the kind of aplomb that you and your alpha have developed, then it will be well worth the lessons. I look forward to meeting your pack, Scott.”

He reaches out and clasps her hand again. “We’ll make sure to be ready for your arrival with proper hospitality. And it’s summer, so if you have any teenagers in your pack, bring them along. I think we’d all like some company and to have some fun along with the politics.”

“I will do that.” Hannah finally steps back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I hope to eat before I have to get on a plane again. It is frustrating that airlines no longer see fit to serve meals.”

“Mamé is proof that werewolves _always_ eat a lot, no matter the age,” Emily murmurs, laughing when Hannah jabs at her. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again. We have a lot to learn from each other, emissary. And congratulations.” She nods to both of them. “Your bond is solid; you have a long future together.”

Braeden clears her throat, but when Stiles glances at her, she has her arms crossed, looking everywhere but at Scott and Stiles. He takes advantage of it, winding his arms around Scott’s shoulders, tucking his nose into the crook of his neck, sighing when Scott nuzzles his cheek, the roughness of his beard scraping sensitive skin.

“Someday we ought to find out whether that _bond_ has a capital B,” Scott murmurs.

“Does it really matter?” Stiles nips at his throat, loves the way Scott tilts his head to give him access, _trusting_ him. “I love you no matter what, dude. Always have, always will, and I am _really_ glad we are on the same page on that now.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Scott admits. “And yeah, we are on the same page, and I love you too, dude.”

“I love you more.”

“Prove it.”

Braeden makes an unintelligible noise of clear frustration, and Scott and Stiles laugh. Stiles kisses Scott thoroughly before untangling himself from Scott. “C’mon, let’s get to lunch and find our other guard dogs before Braeden stops speaking to us entirely.”

“One, I’m not a dog.” Braeden nudges them both toward the dining room. “Two, neither are Danny and Jordan. Three, you two can drive yourselves home because none of us are going to watch you be sickening the whole way there. It’s cute, yes, and I can see years of sexual frustration must have come to a spectacular head—”

“He gives very spectacular head,” Stiles deadpans, and Braeden groans.

“I am not paid enough for this,” she mutters, and pushes them again, stalking behind them into the room. Not that she’s actually paid _anything_ for this, but Stiles figures that doesn’t really matter.

“I love you so hard,” Scott whispers as they go in.

Stiles snorts, retorting, “I love you harder.”

It’s an argument he’s willing to have for a long time to come, as long as the first three words are always _I love you_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, we FINALLY got here. I am so so SO sorry about the huge hiatus in the middle, and I am so thankful for all of you who kept checking back and reading and commenting. *HUGE HUGS* You are all awesometastic.
> 
> For those curious, I have no idea what's coming next, and what ship it will be. I'm working on a few projects all at the same time, and I do want to get to the point where my various series are closed out. If you have thoughts, or just want to say hi, or want a chance to win a ficlet from your own prompt, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


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